


Under the Surface

by rw_eaden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, But just a little, Enemies to Lovers, Feminization, Gay Castiel, Gay Dean, Happy Ending, Historically Inaccurate Dialogue, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Pirate Castiel, Prince Dean, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/pseuds/rw_eaden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, prince of Winchester, had pretty much everything he could have ever wanted, except for a choice in his fate. That was until he found himself kidnapped and held for ransom by a band of pirates and their enigmatic captain, Castiel. Now, he must choose for himself whether or not he will allow himself to be free to do what he wants or to do what everyone seems to think he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So you may have noticed the kidnapping tag. Yes, kidnapping occurs in this piece. And a romance will eventually develop. There will be no abuse towards Dean by Castiel or any of the other pirates. The worst that happens to Dean is a little hazing and teasing but nothing gets violent or abusive. I suppose you could argue that it's a Stockholm situation, but I have tried to paint Dean's decisions in this piece as his own born of his own desires rather than of influence other people have over him. Still, if you are concerned with the idea of a kidnapped person falling for the person who kidnapped him I suggest you not read this.

The clouds overhead covered the sky in a sickly gray blanket, leaving only the barest traces of sunlight to shine through. The sea was similarly dark and murky, waves rolling languidly against the bow of the tiny sailing boat. It was the second week of January, just a little over two weeks before Dean’s twenty-first birthday, and just a little over three weeks before his wedding. As the prince of the kingdom of Winchester and heir to the throne, it was Dean’s duty to be married off to secure the bloodline and diplomatic relations between kingdoms. His betrothed, Princess Sarah of Blake was nice enough; intelligent, feisty, and gorgeous. In all honesty, Dean could see himself being friends with her, and maybe someday if they were lucky romantic feelings would develop. The problem was that he was being forced to marry her. That, and honestly, his future father-in-law, King Blake was a massive dick and he really didn’t want the bastard to gain anything from the alliance between their two kingdoms.

Dean sighed and clutched the cloak around his shoulders. The Blakes were in back in the castle. They had been since the solstice, flittering around in his space, reading his books, eating in his dining room. It wouldn’t’ve been so bad, but his father was out on a hunt and his brother had left for the monastery years ago, so he was alone with the Blakes and their servants all the time. At least he had his attendants to keep him company, even if Ed and Harry got on his nerves like they had been since the three of them set foot on the boat. That’s what he got for slipping out with both of them for a little piece and quiet.

Dean liked to think that if he were born to a different family he might’ve been a fisherman. It was decent work far from the nonsense of the castle, of people fussing over him every waking second, of having the welfare of so many people in his hands. He could’ve taken up the hobby of hunting like his father had, but he preferred to spend his hobby time actually relaxing and there would be none of that if he went hunting with his father. King John was too serious most of the time. He meant well, only wanting to raise Dean to be the kind of ruler he had been; stern but fair, strict but compassionate, demanding but protective, but more often than not he came across as overbearing. He had insisted on Dean’s obedience as a child, claiming that a king who couldn’t follow orders couldn’t give them. Duty and loyalty were pounded into his head since Dean had been old enough to speak. It wasn’t all that bad, though. He was allowed his own hobbies and interests and he got to study more than just politics with his tutors, and being the heir apparent had definitely won him favor with many of his female subjects and servants (he was careful enough not to wind up with a child of his own, though). The biggest problem, of course, was that he always knew there would be a point down the line that the choices he really wanted to make for himself would be taken from him.

That day had come much sooner than he had ever wanted it to. A few years prior his father’s hunting party got lost during the winter months. Half the men he took with him came back with frostbite, and many of them lost several toes and fingers. John himself took ill after they came home and the sickness moved into his lungs and stayed there for weeks. As a result, he was prone to the sicknesses that spread through the castle every winter, though some years were worse than others. He had decided it was for the best that Dean took the throne while he was still alive, in case the sickness did in fact take him one winter. His marriage had been arranged separate from his coronation and was something he knew had been coming since the day he turned eighteen. The Kingdom had several offers from their neighbors, but ultimately the Blakes were chosen in order to tie the two kingdoms into an alliance.

It could’ve been a lot worse for Dean, but still, he couldn’t help the little pang of jealousy he felt for his brother. Sam was the younger son, he was allowed to go out and have a life as long as Dean did his duty. And, after Dean was married and he produced an heir of his own, Sam would probably never have to worry about anything that he didn’t want to for as long as he lived. Sam had chosen to go into a monastic order, to study ancient texts and sciences. It suited him, even if it sounded horribly boring. But it had been his choice and he was allowed to do it.

Dean was busy mulling these thoughts over, staring at the water sloshing against the sides of the boat when Garth’s voice called out over the waves. Dean didn’t catch what he said, but there was a tension in his voice that startled Dean. His head shot up and looked in Garth’s direction at the helm. His eyes were on the open water ahead of them, and the doree fast approaching. The ship was little bigger than the vessel Dean was currently sitting on, and there appeared to be only one man aboard. It was flying the red and gold flag of the Winchester kingdom, but the name on the side of the ship was one Dean didn’t recognize. It looked like a completely different language. Then again, it had been a while since Dean had been out on the water, so perhaps his father’s privateers had commandeered a foreign ship recently.

“Garth,” Dean called out, “do you recognize that ship?”

Garth peered over the helm at the ship that was now cutting through the water. “No, Your Majesty, she doesn’t look familiar.”

Uneasiness crept up through Dean’s insides, as one word flashed in his mind; _pirates_. They weren’t unheard of, but there hadn’t been an attack on a Winchester ship this close to the kingdom in decades. Dean shuddered, watching as the ship continued to run closer, Garth trying to pull out of her way.

“Garth, take us back to shore,” Dean ordered, clutching the cloak around his chest tighter.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Garth said, steering the ship in a large U, pulling away from the approaching doree.

That’s when a shot rang out in the air. Dean ducked, and both Ed and Harry threw themselves over his body, pinning him to the deck. A heavy silence fell over the water.

“Drop anchor!” A voice called out, “We won’t ask again.”

Shit. It was definitely pirates.

The boat stalled and Dean was certain that Garth had dropped the anchor. Dean didn’t dare look up, and neither Ed nor Harry made a move to pull off of him. There was a thud and the boat swayed to the side, before steadying, and then there was the thump of heavy boots against the deck.

“You there, up,” the voice hollered.

Ed and Harry shifted above him, rising to their feet. Dean glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of three pairs of black boots.

“You too,” the voice snapped.

Dean stood, taking in the men in front of him. There were three of them, two relatively large with squared shoulders and thick beards. They were armed, each with a blade sheathed at the hip. The third was shorter than he was, and looked more like a troll than a man, with frizzy dark hair, a thick nose and a cocky grin plastered across his face. In his right hand, he brandished a pistol.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” The trollish man mused, waving his pistol up and down in front of Dean’s chest. “You shouldn’t be this far from home.”

Dean squared his shoulders, puffing his chest slightly. “These are my waters. You’re the ones who shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“That so princess?” The man sneered, his lips twisted in a wicked smile. “You hear that,boys? Apparently, we’re not supposed to be here.”

The twin brutes behind the trollish man snickered, crossing their arms over their chests. Beside him, Dean could feel both Ed and Harry tremble.

“Well then, this has been a simple misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about, we can get this all sorted out. I’m sure our captain would love to hear how wrong he was to bring us here,” the trollish man said.

Dean’s stomach churned. He’d heard stories from fishermen and merchants about what happened aboard pirate ships. If they were lucky they’d get their throats cut. If they weren’t…well, Dean didn’t want to think about that.

It was Garth who piped up next, “Look, fellas, there isn’t any need for that,” he held his palms out in front of him and spoke in a soft voice, “we don’t have anything of value, we’d be a waste of your captain’s time.”

The trollish man snorted and rolled his eyes. He turned towards his companions and said, “Benny, Eli, tie the prisoners.”

The two hulking stepped closer, the first jerking Garths wrists and binding them in front of him, the other binding both Ed and Harry. When one of the men stood in front of Dean, grabbing left his wrist in his calloused hands, Dean reeled back, pulling a fist. He had every intention of swinging until he felt cold metal against his temple. The trollish man had his gun flush against Dean’s skin. “Try it if you want, but I would advise against it,” he said.

Dean stilled, glaring at the man in front of him. Benny, or Eli, whichever one was currently binding his wrists smiled slightly, his shoulders jerking in silent laughter. Dean sneered at him, but the pirate simply smiled. It made Dean’s blood run cold.

The four captives were then herded back onto the pirate’s boat, and one of the twins raised the anchor while the other took sat watch over Dean and his companions. The trollish man took the helm.

Dean had never been one to get sea sick, but the further they got from his ship the more he wanted to throw up. He could only hope that these pirates were greedier than they were cruel. Even still, however long his stay on the pirate ship was going to be, it was unlikely to be pleasant. He should’ve just stayed in bed today. Perhaps this was a punishment from the Gods for being so petulant. He had a good life. He was a prince to God’s sake. He had anything and everything anyone could ever want, but he just had to complain about it. Granted, he didn’t do it out loud, but thinking it was as good as speaking it. If he ever got out of this he was never going to complain about anything ever again. He’d just shut up and do what he was supposed to do, no questions asked, for the rest of his life.

It didn’t take long for the doree to make its way to a cove in one of the many uninhabited isles that dotted the water not far from the mainland. The cove itself was sheltered from wind and rain by large rock formations and a line of thick palm trees. It was a good hiding place, but probably not ideal for keeping an eye out for incoming ships. Docked in the cove was a massive galleon made of dark wood. It cast its shadow over the doree as they pulled closer until they were at its side.

The trollish man called out to the ship and a rope ladder came tumbling down the side. Dean’s wrists were untied and he was pushed towards the ladder. He glanced over his shoulder as the brief thought of escape flashed through his mind. He could jump into the water, but there was no way he’d get away. Even if he dove under and hid from the pirates, he’d get exhausted and drown before he got to the shore. With one of the twins hovering behind him, Dean took hold of the rope and began his slow ascent, keeping his eyes on the wood in front of him and not daring for a second to look down. When he reached the top, he was greeted by a blond man who pulled yanked him aboard by his wrist. Dean fell over the side, landing on his knees on the deck.

“Oh, Hell,” the blond man scoffed. He had a strange accent that Dean couldn’t quite place, and it made his voice both nasally and lilted. He glanced down at Dean then back over the side of the ship, “What part of ‘scout the area’ don’t you understand, Marv?”

Dean rose to his feet, taking in the ship around him. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the whole thing was much more vacant than he was expecting. There were a few men sitting on the deck, shouting at each other while playing cards and a few checking the ropes and rigging, but there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of men aboard. Maybe they were out scouting, or maybe they were below deck.

“I saw an opportunity, and I took it,” the voice of the trollish man called from the side of the boat. Dean didn’t bother looking over the side.

The blond man rolled his eyes and tutted. “That’s going to go over well.”

“Hey, I brought back a prince. He’s got to be worth something. We play our cards right and we can all retire to the southern isles and die, rich old men,” the trollish man said as the blond pulled him up over the side.

After him, Ed, Harry, Garth, and the other twin were pulled aboard. The blond stood silently in front of Dean for a moment, scanning him up and down with a calculating stare. They were about the same height, thought Dean was just a little wider.

“Right then, this should be interesting. Benny,” he turned to the twin standing at Dean’s right, “would you fetch the captain?”

The twin, Benny, nodded and disappeared through a door under the raised deck where the helm stood. It didn’t take long for the door to swing open once again, this time with a man Dean could only assume was the captain walking through. He was dressed simply, in black trousers and a white blouse like the rest of the pirates. The only thing that signified him as captain was his jacket, which was a deep navy blue, emblazoned with silver stitching.

The blond man moved to the side as the captain approached, stopping in front of Dean. “Who is this?” He asked, not taking his eyes off Dean. His voice was rough like the man gargled with whiskey. He probably did.

“This is the young prince Winchester.” It was Marv who spoke.

“And what is he doing here?” The captain asked. He continued to stare at Dean with cold, ice blue eyes. Dean stared back, unwilling to betray just how anxious he was feeling. The captain was a few inches shorter than he was, but it still felt as if the man was looming over him.

“You said to scout for ships carrying valuable cargo, so I brought you valuable cargo,” Marv said.

The captain’s head snapped in Marv’s direction, “Is that what you thought you did?”

“We could hold him for ransom. I’m sure the kingdom would pay a pretty penny to get him back,” Marv said.

The captain swung his head back slowly, dragging his eyes up and down Dean’s body before settling back to his face. Dean gulped reflexively. The man set a single, slender finger on his lip and hummed to himself. “And the other three?”

“They were on the boat with him,” Marv said.

The captain took a step back and moved to stand in front of Garth. Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“You,” the captain said, addressing Garth, “will be taken back to your vessel. Once there you will head back to the castle and tell the king we have his son. You will tell the king that if he ever wishes to see his child again he will send a single ship to the cove at the northernmost isle at his borders two weeks from now. This ship will contain 10,000 gold pieces, 5,000 silver pieces, and ten barrels of whiskey. If your king attempts to send his navy he will never see his son alive again. If he complies, your prince will be returned, safe and sound. Is that understood?”

Garth nodded.

“But sir,” Marv interjected, “he’s got to be worth more than that!”

The captain swung past Garth, towering over Marv, his shoulders arched high. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

“N-no, but sir…”

“Then hold your tongue,” the captain all but snarled, turning away.

“But Castiel…”

The captain, Castiel, swung around, a blade suddenly in his hand and pressed against Marv’s neck. “I told you to hold your tongue.”

Marv went still, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. Dean shuddered.

“I really should end you right here and now, with all the trouble you’ve caused. You don’t even know how many problems this…” Castiel trailed off, shutting his eyes and steeling himself, “I should end you, but death would teach you nothing.”

Marv gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the blade.

“Benny, escort the messenger back to his vessel. And Eli, explain the options to the other two.”

“Aye,” the twins said in unison.

Dean shot Ed and Harry an apologetic glance. They were both too focused on Castiel to pay attention.

“Balthazar, take our guest below,” Castiel said.

“Aye,” the blond man said, wrapping his hands around Dean’s biceps and guiding him away.

It was a short trip from the upper deck to the brig, which was more like a barred off corner than an actual cell. Balthazar practically threw him in before shutting and locking the door without a word. It wasn’t until after he left that Dean crumpled in on himself on the floor and finally allowed himself to be sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> Look, I made a map!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there will be plenty of pirate terms in this story (obviously) so here is a [handy glossary](http://pirateglossary.com/) to help you out. It's by no means complete, but it will probably help.

It could’ve been minutes or hours before the boat finally started moving, and moving fast. They were probably scrambling to get out of the cove and find a new place to hide. After all, no one had been blindfolded, and Garth could almost certainly find his way back to the cove. Not that it would do him any good right now though. Even if Garth was able to bring the navy to wherever the ship would eventually be hiding, he’d be dead before the naval officers boarded. He would have to wait at the next two weeks out and then hope that his father would have come back from his hunting trip and would come up with the ransom. If not, he wouldn’t even live to see his own birthday.

Dean stayed crumpled in on himself, only moving to the corner of his tiny cell. The cell was barely long enough for him to stretch his legs out in front of him. A ship this big should have a larger brig, but the size suggested that prisoners were a rarity. Dean tried not to think of the implications of that. If he was lucky, he might be able to spend the next two weeks sleeping. He let his head fall back against the wood behind him and shut his eyes, willing himself not to think about the castle and his friends and family. Of course, that only lasted for a few minutes before the image of his mother’s bright green eyes and soft blonde curls flashed in his mind. She had died when he was just a child, but he could still remember her face and sometimes her voice, if he concentrated hard enough. He’d see her again soon, if things went bad here.

The wood door at the far end of the room squealed open, jarring Dean from his thoughts. A thin man with long, messy dark hair bounced in, carrying a ring of keys with him.

“Gods, you’re lookin’ miserable,” he said. He came to a stop in front of the lock on the cell, fiddling with his keys as he spoke. “Come on, princess, time to get up. Cap’n says you’re due a change a clothes and a pint if ya like.”

Dean squinted, staring at the man as he swung open the door. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Gavin MacLeod,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“MacLeod? As in the MacLeods of Gehenna?”

“Aye, the very same,” the boy said, “Now get your arse up then. There’s a pint up deck that’s got your name on in. And mine if I’m lucky.”

Dean rose to his feet, hesitating before taking a step forward. “This is a trap isn’t it?” He asked.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Gavin squawked.

“Oh, I don’t know, just that I’m a prisoner here and suddenly some guy I don’t even know, someone who claims to be related to nobility, opens the cell door and tells me to come with him. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know a trap when I see one.”

Gavin snorted, loud and indelicate. “Right. First of all, I’m not related to nobility. Not since dear ol’ da got his arse deposed. And good riddance by the way, the man was a better father than he was a king an’ that’s not sayin’ much. Second, I have no interest in seein’ you set free. Not until your da pays up at least. And lastly, the Cap’n sent me down here. Apparently when he said ‘take you below’ he didn’t mean take you to the brig. So…” Gavin swept his hand out in front of him quickly, raising his eyebrows.

Dean scanned his face for any indication that he was lying. It wasn’t like he’d be able to tell anyway, it was almost too dark to see the man’s face, much less any wrinkle or twitch that would give him away.

Dean shook his head. “No thank you,” he said.

“You’re a stubborn bastard, aren’t ya?” Gavin scoffed. “Fine then, suit yourself.” He turned away and walked back out the door and Dean was left alone once again.

It might’ve been minutes or hours that Dean was down there, all alone in the dark. There was a small slot window on the other side of the room, but it only let in a single fat stripe of light that made it half way across the room. A few barrels sat by the wall across from him, but other than that it was empty. A single bucket sat in the corner of his cell, and he shuddered internally. Perhaps he should have gone with Gavin, if for no other reason than to use a real head at least once, though it was unlikely that it would be much nice than the awful bucket sitting in the corner. At least the bucket was his own, gods know how many pirates have done gods know what in the ships head. It was likely filthy. The whole ship was probably filthy. Pirates tended to be that way, didn’t they? This time the shudder was outward, and Dean couldn’t help squirming. The whole ship was probably crawling with filth and rats. Ugh, rats.

Dean tucked his knees to his chest and willed his mind to go blank. He wasn’t going to think about the rats and the germs and the gods know what else on this ship. He shut his eyes and took deep breaths, burying his face in the soft cloth of his cloak. The familiar aroma of his own bedchamber, of wood smoke and musky spices was faint but still there. It helped to calm down the creepy crawly sensations under his skin, but did nothing to make him feel any less alone or afraid.

He missed Sam. Granted, he hadn’t seen Sam in years, not since he decided to join the monastic order on the east end of the kingdom. Sam had been fairly young, only fourteen when he left, but he had already blown through all the books in the castle's library at least once and had started asking questions even Bobby, their tutor, couldn’t answer. It took a little convincing on John’s part, but eventually Sam was allowed to go, and if his letters were true he was flourishing at the monastery. While all of that was great for Sam, it was hard on Dean. He missed his brother most days. He couldn’t tell his brother when someone told a funny joke or when he made a weird observation, or even when he needed advice dealing with their father. The hardest part though, was that he couldn’t even share the happy moments with the one person he wished he could. Sam’s absence was like a shadow, always there, always following him around, and most noticeable when his life was a brighter. He was wasn’t even sure if Sam was supposed to show up for the wedding, he hadn’t received Sam’s latest letter yet. Now, he might never see his brother again. He just wanted to be home.

The tip of Dean’s nose tingled, a familiar sign of impending tears. He sniffled, willing himself not to break. He was not going to cry, not here, no matter how badly he wanted to. Instead focused on his breathing, clearing his mind and just breathing. He fell into a fitful sleep somewhere along the way.

~~~~

Dean was being stubborn and he knew it. Every day, Gavin would come in and offer Dean a pint and a warm meal, and every day Dean would reply with a curt “no, thank you”. On the second day, Gavin left a portion of salt beef and a half pint of ale just outside of the cell, close enough for Dean to pick up if he wanted. Dean drank the ale and left the beef out of spite. This continued for four more days, until Dean finally broke and ate one of the biscuits that was left for him. The next day all Gavin brought were biscuits and a pint. After that, Dean figured that someone was at least trying to make an effort, but whether it was the captain or Gavin or even some faceless cook. Still, he wasn’t feeling very cooperative. 

Dean’s defiance was all good and well until the eighth day of his imprisonment, when Gavin didn’t come bounding down the stairs. Instead of Gavin’s clumsy, lazy footsteps, this time there were two sets of footfalls, moving swiftly down the stairs. Dean jerked up from where he was sitting when the door swung open and in walked the blond man who had escorted him down there and behind him, the captain.

The blond, Balthazar, if Dean remembered right, unlocked the cell door and jumped out of way, while the captain made his way over and stood in the opening. Dean squared his shoulders, and held his chin up while the captain stared him down. He squinted at Dean, his lips pulled into a tight frown. He wasn’t a very large man, much leaner than Dean, but he more than made up from in with his presence. Goosebumps prickled up on Dean’s skin from the stare he was getting as the captain scrutinized him. It made him want to shiver and shake, but he stayed still. Neither one of them said a thing for long enough that Balthazar felt the need to cough, drawing the captain’s attention away, just long enough for Dean to regroup.

“Can I help you?” Dean asked.

The captain remained as stoic as ever, even though from the corner of his eye Dean could see Balthazar’s eyebrow shoot up.

“No one is trying to trick you here,” the captain said, “you may be a prisoner here, but you are entitled to all the same comforts as my men are. It was an…unfortunate misunderstand that landed you in the brig in the first place, and since you do not seem to trust Gavin, I will extend you the same offer he has been for the past week. Come with me and you will be fed and given a change of clothes.”

Dean glanced down at what he was wearing. There was no denying that he needed a change of clothes if it was possible. He had been sitting in a week’s worth of dried sweat and dead skin, and that was enough to make his skin crawl on its own, but on top of that he hadn’t bathed in a week and he felt disgusting. He was also hungry, even if that was his own fault. But that was to prove a point; he might be a prisoner, but he still had control over his own body and he was going to exercise that control. Still, he was cranky and hungry and more than anything he just wanted to be comfortable. If he had to deal with another week of this crap he might just break down crying and that was not something he was willing to do, not in front of these pirates.

Dean sighed, the last of his stubborn resolve slipping away. If this was his last week on earth, which was still possible, he might as well enjoy whatever comfort these scoundrels were offering.

“Fine then, lead the way,” Dean said.

The captain nodded and spun on his heels, moving swiftly through the small room with Dean and Balthazar close behind. They made their way back to the quarter deck, where Dean had to squint against the brightness of the sun. The captain led them to the door underneath the forecastle deck, where Dean was greeted with the loud, boisterous voices of dozens of men laughing and talking. The space under the forecastle deck was lined with bunk beds, each of which had large wooden trunk sitting at the end. Most of the beds were made, save for a few that looked slightly rumpled from where men were sitting on them. The lamps that hung from the ceiling were simple polished brass. The men went silent when they noticed their captain standing in their presence.

The captain reached around behind him and clasped his hand on Dean’s bicep, hauling him forward in a swift motion. “This,” he said, addressing his men, “is the prince Winchester. While he is aboard you will treat him as you treat each other.”

The men remained silent, though Dean could feel their eyes on him, appraising, probably wondering where the best place to stick a knife was.

“Is that clear?” The captain asked.

“Aye, captain,” the response came in unison.

“Gavin,” the captain called.

Gavin popped up from the bed nearest Dean, scrambling to his feet on gangly legs. Dean jumped, and the firm hand around his arm tightened.

“Our guest will be bunking below you. If you have some spare clothes I’m sure he would appreciate them.”

“Aye, shouldn’t be a problem, sir,” Gavin responded.

The captain removed his hand from Dean’s arm, his slender fingers ghosting across his exposed skin briefly.

“Thank you,” the captain said. He then turned to the rest of the crew, offering a curt “carry on” before darting back through the door.

The men however, remained silent, their eyes still in the doorway. Dean rocked back and forth on his feet, unsure of what to do with the grizzled men standing in front of him.

“Quartermaster?” A high pitched voice came out of the shadows. If Dean didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn it came from a woman.

“I have nothing to add,” Balthazar said, pushing past Dean and walking off in the opposite direction of Gavin and what would apparently be Dean’s bunk.

The voices picked back up, this time, the pirates seemingly satisfied with the arrangement.

“It’s about bloody time you got your arse up here,” Gavin said, slapping his hand against Dean’s shoulder. In the light, Dean could finally make out his features. His eyes and nose were small but sharp, and his lips seemed upturned in a permanent, mischievous smile. He didn’t have much facial hair, but what he did have was in thin patches. He looked much more like a weasel than Dean was expecting.

“No point in sittin’ down there in the dark when you could be up here with us lovely folk,” Gavin said as he shoved a pair of trousers in at Dean’s chest. He caught them before the fell to the floor and set them down on the bunk in front of him.

Dean didn’t say anything as he shucked the cloak off his shoulders, then folded it and set it at the head of his bunk.

“Don’t ya worry, you’ll have a much nicer time up here than down there with the bilge rats.” Gavin now shoved a white blouse into his arms.

“Right,” Dean muttered, casting a glance behind him. The rest of the pirate crew went about their business. A few of them were playing cards in the corner, while most of them sat amongst themselves and talked. One guy off in the corner was busy sharpening his blade, not paying attention to the others around him.

Dean stripped his shirt off and threw the borrowed one on. It was a little small around the waist, but at least it was clean. He left the ribbons around the collar untied. He made quick work of his trousers, painfully aware that Gavin was still hovering in his space as he did. The borrowed trousers went on, and he made sure to tie those tight. He looked up to find Gavin smiling at him.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Nothin’,” Gavin answered, “”d ya like a biscuit?”

Dean nodded. Gavin dove back into the truck at the head of the bed, retrieving a cloth pouch. “Here,” he offered the whole thing to Dean, “I think there’s some salted cod in there too. You’re welcome to all of it.”

Dean took the bag, holding it loosely between his fingers. “Why are you being nice to me?” Dean asked.

“Cap’n’s orders. ‘Sides, I know ya haven’t been eatin’ like ya should. An’ I get it, you’re a defiant little bastard, but no one’s out to hurt ya here.”

Dean snorted. “You expect me to trust a bunch of pirates with my safety?”

Gavin laughed a deep, belly laugh, throwing his head back sharply. “Heavens no. Never trust a pirate. But if we wanted ta kill ya, we had plenty of opportunity. Especially with ya locked away in that cage for the past week.”

Dean’s stomach flip-flopped when Gavin threw his hand down hard on his shoulder. He suddenly was very hungry anymore.

“’Sides, like I said, the cap’n wants ya alive, so no one’s gonna cut your throat with you’re sleeping or anything like that. You’re as safe as if you were in your mother’s arms.”

Dean rolled his eyes at that. Unlikely wasn’t even the word for it. Still, Gavin did have a point; if anyone wanted to kill him they already could’ve. Plus he was worth more alive than he was dead. At this point at least.

“What’s your name by the way?” Gavin asked.

“Dean.”

“Dean, ay? Now that’s a regal name. Much better than Gavin if ya ask me.”

Gavin continued yammering away while Dean continued to stare at him. After a while, he insisted that Dean take a seat, so they sat on the bunk while Gavin continued his tirade. Dean didn’t pay all that much attention to what he was saying, opting to eat the food Gavin had given him instead. Gavin didn’t seem to mind. He was content with blabbering away about nothing in particular, until he got to the topic of his father. Then Gavin really took off. He launched into a tale about how his father was probably the worst king Gehenna had ever seen, going back and forth between excessively cruel and completely ineffectual. He told Dean about how his grandmother, the Queen at the time, had fallen ill after his father had reached eighteen and many people had suspected that he had poisoned her. On her deathbed, Queen Rowena cursed her son so that not one of his children would ever rule the land.

“So how’d you get here then?” Dean asked before taking a bite of salted cod.

“Well, after things went south back home I boarded a merchant ship to get my arse outta the line of fire. The ship was captured and piracy seemed a better opportunity than marooning, so I took it. That was about three years ago,” Gavin said.

Dean shook his head. Life aboard a dark ship surrounded by a bunch of pirates didn’t seem all that great, but it was better than dying of thirst, he supposed.

“And you haven’t left?”

“Nah,” Gavin batted the air. “I like it. No politics I have to worry about, no pressure ta do or be anything I ain’t about to be, and it’s a good way to make money.”

“But, it’s dangerous. And you kill people.”

“Only when I have ta. And it’s not all that dangerous. Merchant ships are like big spiders. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

Dean shook his head and finished off the last of the cod. He didn’t necessarily agree with Gavin’s choices, but he could understand the desire for freedom. Piracy probably wasn’t the best way to go about it, though.

“So what about everyone else on board?” Dean asked.

“Well, Benny and Eli over there,” he pointed to the twins playing cards in the corner, “I’m pretty sure they’ve always been pirates. We picked ‘em up when we were in Lusus Naturea about a year ago, and they stayed. And Ash over there,” he pointed to a scraggly man sitting on the top bunk in the corner, who was witling something, “he’s a jack of all trades. I’m not really sure how we wound up with him. He just kinda showed up one day. And Charlie,” he pointed to the red head, cleaning a gun three bunks down, “she…”

“She?”

“Aye, she.”

“I thought women weren’t allowed on ships. Aren’t they bad luck?”

Gavin shrugged. “You best not let her hear you say that. She’s wicked with a blade. Probably one of the best fighters we’ve got. She’ll kick your arse six ways to Sunday with a hand tied behind her back. She was actually a maid on one of the ships we captured. She killed three men all on her own before we were able to knock the blade outta her hands. Cap’n was so impressed with her he offered her a spot on our ship.”

“Not like she really had a choice was it?” Dean asked.

“Course she did. We let that one go. It was some leader from one of the southern clans or something. I don’t know. Anyway, we just wanted their gold, not their lives.”

Dean wanted to ask why the hell anyone would choose to be a pirate if they had other options. He didn’t though, because even though Gavin had assured him he was safe from harm while he was on the ship, he didn’t want to give the pirates any reason to dislike him.

Gavin continued to tell him about the histories of the other members of the ship. Apparently most of the crew had once been merchants and fisherman, with a few exceptions. Gavin claimed that most of them chose the pirate life willingly, though Dean doubted that. It turned out that Charlie wasn’t the only woman aboard either. Meg, a dark haired woman who was apparently a mercenary in Gehenna, was also a member of the crew.

“So what about the captain?” Dean asked after Gavin had run through most of the crew members.

“What about him?” Gavin asked.

“What’s his story?”

“No idea.”

“Seriously?”

“Aye. No one really knows. He doesn’t talk about it, so no one asks. Though there are some theories. Benny thinks he was a merchant, but Eli thinks he was weapons interloper before he turned to piracy. Meg thinks he’s some foreign dignitary turned rogue. But if ya ask me, I’d say he’s always been a pirate. Man seems like he was raised on a ship.”

Dean had nothing to say in response. He really wouldn’t put anything past the mysterious captain. He didn’t really want to stick around long enough to find anything else out about the man either.

The rest of the day passed with ease. Dean’s belly was full and his body was tired, so he eventually fell asleep long before he was required. The bunk wasn’t as comfortable as his bed was, but it was a million times better than sleeping crumbled in on himself on the floor. He slept harder than he had in a whole week.

The next day brought new excitement. Pirates woke up much earlier than he had expected, well before dawn. He took a walk around the quarter deck, getting himself reacquainted with sunshine when he spotted Ed and Harry, fumbling their way through what looked like an attempt at swabbing the deck. Dean rushed to meet them, wrapping them in his arms, and laughing. He thought for sure they had been killed. Though, when he found out why they were still alive, his heart sank.

“We’re pirates now,” Ed said.

“It was either that or get marooned and wait to die,” Harry said.

Dean huffed a sigh and apologized, not really sure what else to say. He hoped what Gavin had said about limited fighting was true because he was sure Ed and Harry would be dead by the end of their first battle.

The rest of the week was relatively uneventful. Dean kept himself busy by help where he could, usually with cleaning and replacing ropes. He wasn’t allowed to touch the rigging by himself, as it was deemed too dangerous for precious cargo like himself. Other times he was invited to play cards with Charlie and Ash. The two of them were great, and he thought that perhaps if he had met them anywhere else they might have been friends. As it was though, he knew that if he was rescued, his father would undoubtedly sick his navy on the ship and those who weren’t killed in the fighting would be brought back for a swift and merciless trial.

He also encountered Marv, the man who had kidnapped him, though they didn’t speak to each other. His ears were bandaged and part of his face was still swollen when they saw each other, and Dean had no doubt that he had been punished for his actions. Dean tried not to get a sick sense of satisfaction out of that, but he failed. It was a little satisfying to know that someone had paid for screwing up Dean’s life.

He never got a chance to speak to the mysterious pirate captain, however. The man kept away from Dean, even when they were in the same area. He mostly stood back and watched Dean, like a hunter observing an animal. It sent a chill ripping up Dean’s spine, and even though he tried to ignore it, the man’s presence always set him on edge. The rest of the pirates didn’t seem to have a problem with him or his odd behavior.

~~~~

Dean got sick on the morning of the fourteenth day aboard the pirate ship. Everyone awoke before the sun, as usual, except this time the ship was a flurry of movement. The anchors were hoisted, the sails were unfurled, and the captain took his place on the forecastle deck, calling out orders for the riggers. It only took moments for the ship to start moving, and they plowed ahead towards the northernmost isle in the Winchester’s seas.

Dean hadn’t spent much time thinking about his fate since he came out of the brig. He didn’t allow himself to, occupying his time instead with work and conversation. Now that the day was finally here, all he could do was hope. Dean didn’t doubt that his father would show up personally to meet with the pirates. What he was worried about, however, was what was going to happen after that. His father wasn’t a stupid man by any means, but he had no doubt that he would bring reinforcements, even if they were just a small group of his most trusted naval officers. It wouldn’t be a matter of whether or not they would choose to engage the pirates, it would be a matter of when. Even if they could get a few good shots in on the ship, from what Dean had been told about pirates, and these pirates in particular, they would not hesitate to make it a bloody battle.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted them to pay for it anymore. Sure, it would be nice, but more than anything he just wanted the whole affair to be over. He just wanted to go home, bathe, and sleep in his own bed. He still didn’t want to get married or be king, but if it was that or misery on a pirate ship or death, he’d take marriage. Though he had to admit he wasn’t as miserable as he had expected to be after he left the brig. The pirates were at least civil, and some of them were fun to talk to. And it was less gross than he had expected, even if they pirates ate with their hands and talked with their mouths full and were generally crude.

By the time they reached the isle the sun was high in the sky. They dropped anchor, and Dean waited. His nerves were on edge all day, causing his stomach to churn constantly. He refused to eat anything, knowing that if he did it would just come right back up. He did however, drink as much ale as Gavin offered him, though it did very little to quell the anxiety bubbling up in his guts. Dean was certain he was getting a sunburn, but he didn’t make any move to get out of the sun. He wanted to be there when the ship was spotted. He needed to be.

As the sun sank in the sky dread began eating its way through Dean’s body. He began to fidget, pacing back and forth a few steps around the crate he had been sitting on since they docked. The icy chill of fear finally seized his lungs when the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sea a rich gold color, like the gold the pirates had been expected but were unlikely to get now. When the first stars began to poke out over the horizon, Dean desperately clung to the hope that perhaps his father was just out of vision; any second his ship would come into view.

But as the last rays of sunlight were eaten up by the ocean Dean knew his father wasn’t coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed what I've written thus far. As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. If you want to talk to me I'm on tumblr, [over here](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [pirate glossary](http://pirateglossary.com/) if you need it.

Dean didn’t move; he wasn’t sure he even could. The sky and sea blended together at the horizon in a deep inky blue that he wished would swallow him whole. He had been sure that his father would come. He had been counting on it. Ever since he was released from the brig, ever since the pirates had been cordial to him, he had been sure that he was going to be okay. Things had been looking up, so he had reason to hope that someday this whole issue would be a funny story to tell to his children. But now, well he couldn’t even wrap his mind around it. His head was fuzzy, empty, unfocused, like in a nightmare when you knew you were dreaming but couldn’t wake up no matter how hard you tried.

It was like being underwater, the movement around him too blurry and distorted, and the voices like distant echoes. He barely registered that he was being dragged away from the crate he had collapsed on. A door opened, a lantern was lit, and he was set down in a large chair. He wanted to vomit, or collapse, or both. A thousand half-formed thoughts bounced around in his mind; why didn’t his father come, had the reached him in time, was his father dead somewhere, did he even know, what if he did know and he just didn’t care, what was going to happen now?

All he could hope for now was that his death would be swift. The pirates no longer needed him. He was worthless to them, and returning him would be a liability. Maybe they would let him choose how he wanted to go. If he had a choice he would pick a gun shot. At least then it would be over before he had to wait to drown or choke on his blood. He sent a hasty prayer to any god that was listening that he would get to choose.

His head was still fuzzy but he was just barely able to register the click of the door opening behind him and soft padding of boots against the wood. He didn’t bother to lift his gaze from the polished wood of the desk in front of him when a flicker of blue passed by him.

“Dean.” The captain’s voice came now from directly in front of him.

Dean picked his head up to take in the man sitting across the desk from him. Castiel was sitting with his hands folded on the desk in front of him, his stoic face betraying no emotion.

Dean let out a stuttered breath, unable to do much else.

“We need to discuss your predicament,” the captain said, “truly I expected you to be off my ship at this point but seeing as how that hasn’t happened, we need to discuss your options.”

“Shoot me,” Dean blurted.

“Excuse me?” The captain’s eyebrows arched upward, his voice picking up half an octave at the end.

“I want it to be quick,” Dean said.

The captain leaned over the deck, his eyes dragging up and down Dean’s face. Dean gulped, his heart stilling for a beat. Castiel frown, the lines around his eyes deepening.

“Why would I do that?” He asked, his head tipping to the side like a curious dog.

“I…” Dean stalled, licking his lips. His mouth was dry and his stomach churned.

“I have no reason to kill you, Dean,” the captain said.

“W-what?” Dean stuttered.

“I have no reason to kill you,” the captain repeated, leaning back and straightening up in his chair, “I would prefer not to kill you, but if that’s what you choose I will honor your wishes.”

Dean’s tongue lay prone in his mouth. He could only stare at Castiel, taking him in. He didn’t look like an especially cruel man, but he didn’t look that compassionate either. He just looked…cold. But if he didn’t want to kill Dean than what did he want?

“You have options. The first is for you to join the crew. If you do so you will be required to agree to our code of conduct and abide by our rules. You will also be required to work daily on the ship and when we engage in battles you will be required to fight. Your second option is to stay on the isle. It is possible you will find you way off, but not likely. It may be a death sentence, or it may be freedom,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded, idly. So Castiel wasn’t going to kill him, but he either had to become a pirate or starve on an island. No one was coming for him, and his life was basically over. It was a choice between dying alone on a deserted island or dying by a blade, and he had already decided he’d rather be killed than starve.

“For what it’s worth, the crew has taken quite a liking to you. If their vote was the deciding factor you would be staying,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded again, willing himself to force words out. “I’ll do it,” he said, “I’ll join your crew.”

Castiel leaned back in his chair and began fishing around the drawers. He retrieved a few pieces of paper, an inkwell, and a quill. “These,” he said, spreading the papers out in front of Dean, “are the codes for my ship. You must abide by them for as long as you remain aboard. You must also be aware that you are essentially abdicating your royal title. Though I have no authority to officially strip you of your birthright it is best for you to act as if you were never a prince in the first place. Other pirate crews may not be as kind to you as we have and piracy, as you are well aware, is illegal in most kingdoms. It is fairly safe to assume that you will never take your father’s throne.”

“So essentially, pretend I’m dead,” Dean said.

Castiel hummed, folding his hands and resting his knuckles just below his bottom lip. “Think of it as a rebirth.”

Dean dipped his eyes to scan over the documents. He needed to read over the words several times in order to partially comprehend what he was reading. The codes outlined when his curfew was, how much he would be paid, weapon maintenance, prohibited him from fighting, stealing from crewmembers, and various other things he was and wasn’t allowed to do. It all seemed fairly reasonable.

Dean dipped the quill into the inkwell, dragging the tip over the glass lip to remove the excess ink. His hand only trembled slightly as he signed his name to the paper. He set the quill back into the ink, looking up at Castiel who was still staring at him, his lips pulled into a tight line.

“Now what?” Dean asked.

“You’re free to return to your bunk. You can begin your duties as cabin boy tomorrow. Until then, get your rest. It has been a taxing day for you, and it is unlikely to get much easier,” Castiel said, rising from behind the desk. He crossed the room in a few swift strides, opening the door before Dean had a change to stand.

No one bothered Dean on his way to the bunks. He collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~

Dean slept hard. Perhaps a little too hard, if his stiff muscles were anything to go by. He was awoken at dawn with the rest of the pirates, scarfing down a quick meal before he was put to work. Balthazar pulled him aside after he ate, scowling down at him while he explained his duties. Cabin boy was just another word for servant, apparently, and it was his job to fetch and carry for the officers on board. When he wasn’t running around getting things for Balthazar, Castiel, or Charlie, he was supposed to check the riggings and the lines with Ed, Harry, and the other riggers. When he wasn’t checking the rigging he was supposed to see if the cook or the doctor needed assistance. It wasn’t hard work, really, it was just busy.

Life aboard a pirate ship was much less exciting than he had thought. The days were long and hot, with very little to look at other than the slow roll of blue waves as the sloshed against the ship. Spending time on the upper deck was miserable, particularly in the heat of the day when sweat soaked through his clothes and he wanted nothing more than to strip down and dive into the clear water. The lower decks weren’t much better, as they were musty and dank and humid enough make Dean feel as if his lungs were closing. He had to drag a heavy saber around on his belt at all times, and the pouch on his hip held a pistol, that was to be loaded every morning and unloaded every night. There was little opportunity to catch any shade, and his eyes were constantly having to adjust from spending time under the unyielding rays of the sun and the low light of the lower decks. After three days aboard, his neck was burnt to a crisp, his feet ached in his shoes, and he had blisters on the palms of his hands.

The crew members had seemed to change their tune a little, too. Castiel kept his distance as always, only asking for him to relay messages back and forth between him and Charlie. Balthazar rolled his eyes whenever he was around, occasionally muttering something about “yet another little lost puppy” when Dean’s back was turned. Gavin was still pleasant, but Dean suspected that was because he loved to hear himself talk and Dean was the only person who hadn’t heard all of his stories yet. The other crew members, though, regarded him differently. It was Ash who started it on the second day, while he and two other men were playing dice on an over-turned barrel. 

“Oh, cabin boy,” he called in a sing-song voice, “you wanna take a break from servicing the captain and play a round?”

The other men, Inias and Benny – or maybe Eli – snickered.

Dean murmured something about checking in with the cook before scampering away, unsure of weather it was shame or angry causing his stomach to churn.

After Ash’s comment, most of the other crew members referred to him as “cabin boy”, usually in a sweet, sing-song way, and occasionally with the flutter of eyelashes. Meg, on the other hand, preferred to call him “princess”, which was fine at first but after about the tenth time Dean had to clench and unclench his fist to keep his anger in check. Castiel had a very strict no-fighting rule. If there were disputes among the pirates they would have to wait until the ship was in port somewhere and then a duel would be used to sort out the issue. Dean was frustrated with it, but not frustrated enough to risk a duel with Meg.

He tried not to cry himself to sleep during the nights. Light out was eight o’clock and most of the pirates were able to sleep right away. Dean, however, was not. His skin was burnt, his muscles ached, and he felt like he was coated in a layer of sweat and dirt and grime, and though he would love nothing more than to sink into his bunk and sleep his mind wouldn’t let him. He was painfully aware just how alone he was. Sure, Ed and Harry were around, but they were more of a reminder of all the things he would never experience again. He would never see any of his other servants or friends again. He would never be able to visit his mother’s grave on her birthday again. He would never get another letter from his brother again. He would never be able to do any of the things that he had taken for granted all of his life, and no one on board cared in the slightest.

Castiel had said he should think of piracy as a rebirth, but in the dark, all he could think of was how he was as good as dead.

~~~~~~~

After passing messages back and forth between Charlie and Castiel, Dean had learned they would be heading to a port somewhere close to the edges of the Lusus Naturae, where pirates felt safe enough to hide their ships in coves scattered across the coast and head into some of the trading towns by the shore. Lusus Naturae had been in dispute for as long as anyone in the Winchester kingdom could remember. It was close to Gehenna, but the warrior tribes that lived within the borders were even too vicious for Queen Abaddon to attempt to take on. Once, when Dean was a child, a man named Roman had attempted to unify the tribes, but it ended badly for him. From what Dean understood, there had been nothing left of the man but his blood on the walls of his bedchamber.

The pirates would be spending a few days in Lusus Naturae, in order to scrape the ship for barnacles and probably get drunk. The fact that it was an anarchy state without a government to prosecute and execute the pirates gave them more freedom to stretch their legs on dry land. Dean was glad he’d be able to spend some time on actual land. He was no stranger to being on the open water, but a little change of scenery would be nice. A person could only stare out at the open ocean for so long before they started to feel like there was no escape from the endless expanse of blue. In just about half a week, he’d be back on dry land.

 Dean turned twenty-one while they were still at sea. He had hoped in some way that they’d make it to land before then, but rationally he knew there was no way they’d get there. He awoke the day of his birthday hoping to play if off like any other, but he couldn’t help walking around like he had lead in his shoes.

“What’s eating you?” Charlie asked while they were eating breakfast. Or, more accurately, she was eating breakfast. Dean just stared at the salted beef in front of him. The two of them were alone at one of the smaller tables in the galley, and for that Dean was thankful. The pirates were usually more subdued in the mornings, but they still had a habit of yelling or poking at Dean whenever he was near.

“Nothing,” Dean said. He took a drink of his ale, grimacing at the cloying sweetness. They must’ve opened a new barrel because this way was sweeter than the stuff he’d been drinking for the past few weeks.

Charlie leaned over the table, bracing her elbows against the teetering wood. “You’re a shit liar, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He really wasn’t in the mood to talk about anything right then. He opted for shoving a piece of the beef into his mouth, struggling to tear off a hunk with his front teeth. The beef was hard, over salted, and damn near impossible to crew. He spent a good thirty seconds just gnawing on it, spit trickling down his chin.  

“You gonna spill or am I gonna have to keep pestering you all day?” Charlie asked over a bite of biscuit.

Dean winced as she talked with her mouth full of biscuit. He then winced at himself, noting the dribble all over his lips and chin. If any of this companions in the court could see him know they’d be utterly disgusted. He was disgusted with himself. He should have much more decorum than this, but it was difficult when the food was either tough or dry and you had to speak as fast and loud as possible or risk getting cut out of conversations.

Dean finally wrenched a chunk of meat off, then wiped his chin with his sleeve. “It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about it.”

She eyed him up and down, the wrinkles around her mouth deepening in a frown. “Fine, but if this affects your work I’m going to make you tell me. I have ways, you know.”

Dean barely resisted the urge to scoff. Charlie might be a pirate, but he doubted that she’d have it in her to hurt him. From what he’d seen of her up to that point, he really almost didn’t believe that she was capable of killing anyone. Sure, she didn’t take any shit off anyone and she was stern in her demands, but she wasn’t like the other pirates. She hadn’t once teased him about anything and she had tried to get him to talk about how he was adjusting more than once.

“Sure, Charlie,” he said.

After a few more bites and swigs of ale, Dean and Charlie headed out to the poop deck. As boatswain, it was Charlie’s job to inspect the rigging and the sails every morning. Afterwards she would send Dean to the captain to report on what she found. If Castiel had anything he needed, he would send Dean for that. If he didn’t Dean was then tossed off to Balthazar, who rarely had anything for Dean to do. After that Dean would head back to Charlie or wonder down to the galley to see if he was needed by anyone else. For the most part, he liked sticking around Charlie. She didn’t make him feel like his presence was a burden.

Charlie and Dean were inspecting the sails when something caught Charlie’s eye near the horizon. She cupped her hands around her eyes, walking towards the starboard side of the boat. It was nothing more than a dark speck on the horizon, but there were only so many things it could be out here on the open ocean. Dean’s stomach churned.

“Dean,” she said, her voice pitched high, “go get the captain!”

Dean did as he was told, sprinting off towards the captain’s quarters, landing solid knocks against the door. The door opened just a crack, with Castiel peering outwards, squinting at Dean.

“Uh,” Dean stammered, taking in the man before him. He couldn’t see how Castiel was dressed, but judging by the circles under his eyes and was his hair stuck up on his forehead, Dean would’ve guessed that Castiel had been asleep.

“Sorry, uh, Charlie, wanted me to come get you. She’s spotted another ship.”

Castiel stood a little straighter at that, his eyes opening wider. “Fetch Balthazar,” Castiel said, “I’ll be on deck in a moment.”

Dean didn’t have time to respond before the door was shut in his face. Dean rolled his eyes and sprinted back in the opposite direction, finding Balthazar still in the galley, laughing with Gavin. He whispered to a very perturbed Balthazar what he had already told Castiel, at which Balthazar jumped to his feet, nearly smacking Dean in the face as he did.

The rest of the pirates stilled as Balthazar cleared his throat. “Every able-bodied sailor, on deck. Now!” He stated, before dragging Dean by his shirt cuff out of the galley, up the stairs and back to where Charlie was on deck.

Dean was out of breath by the time they made it to her side. He didn’t think he was that out of shape, but apparently running back and forth on a pirate ship at full speed took more out of him that he thought. He doubled over on himself, setting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Balthazar, meanwhile, pulled a telescope from the breast pocket of his brown jacket. He trained it on the ship in the distance, which was now a bigger blog, drifting away from the horizon.

“What are they flying?” Castiel’s rumbling baritone came from behind Dean. Dean’s hands slipped off his knees, and he would’ve jumped if he had been standing upright.

“Looks to be Harvelle kingdom, Captain,” Balthazar said, eyes still trained on the boat.

“What would a Harvelle ship be doing all the way over here?” Charlie asked.

Dean would’ve asked the same question. The Harvelle kingdom had been tentative allies with Winchester for longer than Dean had been alive. Their borders were close to the Winchester borders, with only an unclaimed mountain range between the two kingdoms. The Harvelles wouldn’t be caught dead out here in waters near Lusus Naturae or Gehenna, not unless there was a war going on.

“It’s a merchant ship,” Balthazar, “do the Harvelles trade with the tribes?”

“No way in Hell,” Dean said before he could stop himself. He shot up straight to find Balthazar, Charlie, and Castiel’s eyes on him. Balthazar’s lips curled upward into a sneer and he had just opened his mouth to say something when Castiel cut him off.

“You’re sure, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said, eyes darting back out towards the ocean and away from Castiel’s sharp gaze and Balthazar’s sneer “The Harvelles are allied with the Winchester kingdom. Unless I’ve missed something in the past three weeks that means they’re enemies with Lusus Naturae and Gehenna. They don’t have any reason to be this far out.”

Unless they were here for Dean. Dean allowed the brief glimmer of hope that thought brought him to swell up in his chest. The boat did seem to be getting closer as if they were headed right for them.

“Charlie, fly the black flag. Do not, under any circumstances, drop anchor. Balthazar, ready the crew. I want a chain-shot set up in the middle cannon. If they start firing I want their mast taken out. And I want to be prepared to board after we’ve taken out the mast.”

“Aye,” the both said in unison and Castiel whisked away towards the helm.

Balthazar started barking out orders right away, handing his telescope off to Charlie. The deck was then a flurry of movement, with pirates buzzing around Dean like a swarm of bees. The sails were adjusted, gunpowder barrels were rolled out and cannonballs were loaded. Castiel had taken his place at the helm and the ship, turning the ship away and out of the path of the approaching ship. Dean was at a loss for what to do, movement catching his eye and dragging his attention in all directions. His stomach churned and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Shit, this was really happening. There was going to be a fight. Out here. In the middle of the ocean. What if they lost? Would the other pirates demand he join them, too, or would they just kill him? What if they sank the ship? He was going to drown. He was going to die.

“Dean!” Charlie’s voice snapped Dean back into reality. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Stick close to me, okay?”

Dean nodded and stuck to Charlie’s side as she gave out orders and set ropes and rigging in order. The pirates make quick work of setting the ship in order, and suddenly the movement ceased. A strange silence fell upon the ship as Castiel steered on towards the approaching ship. The air around them grew thick with anticipation. Dean cast a glance at the ship, searching for any sign of anyone he might know.

It happened almost too quickly for Dean to register what was going on. It was a loud bang, shouted curses, the splintering of wood, and a splash. Then there was yelling. Castiel was barking orders, the pirates were cursing, and cannons boomed. Across the water, the other ship’s captain was hollering something Dean couldn’t make out. Men moved around on the boat, crouching and rolling cannonballs and gunpowder. The powder monkeys were ramming steel bars into the cannons, lighting fuses, and dipping down below the railing. From somewhere down the ship there was screaming, wood snapping, and metal pounding against metal. Dean barely noticed the chains hurling through towards his face before Charlie was jerking him onto her lap. They landed with a clatter on the deck behind him, and Dean nearly vomited.

There was another succession of bangs and a sudden crash from somewhere behind him, but Dean was too busy trying to calm his breath and racing heartbeat to care what had happened.

That was until he was being hauled to his feet away, Charlie just inches from his face. “Dean,” she said, shaking his shoulder, “Dean are you still with me?”

Dean swung his head around. The pirates were throwing large wooden planks over the side of the ship, creating a walkway to the enemy ship. When had they gotten that close?

“Dean!” Charlie snapped.

“Huh?”

“Dean, you with me?”

“I, uh…”

“Don’t freak out on me now, kid. Stay on deck and help gets the loot on board. If anyone from the other ships comes at you, kill them,” she said. She clapped him on the shoulder twice before bouncing off towards the crowd of pirates rushing at the enemy ship.

Dean didn’t have time to question anything. He shook himself, attempting to hang on to some composure as he sprinted towards the planks without thinking. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might give out and sweat was pouring off his face and running into his eyes. He cursed at the way his eyes burned. The odor of gunpowder was heavy closer to the ship’s railing, and its tang stung in his nose and down his throat. Dean took his place close to the railing, and began took whatever was handed to him blindly, handing them off to one of the men behind him.

Amidst the sensory whirlwind around him, he was only briefly registered the man barreling towards the planks. He was snarling, sword raised high in the air. Dean wanted to cry out, but no words came. His throat ached as he tried to squeak out a warning. The man kept charging, and Dean stilled in his movements. Someone was yelling at him to pay attention.

Dean’s hands moved, almost without permission, to the pouch at his waist. He pulled out his pistol and fired. The man fell almost in slow motion, his eyes shot open, a dark wound blossoming between his eyes before he hit the deck.

“Nice shot!” Someone said. Dean didn’t register who.

The battle seemed to go end as quickly as it began. Dean was being dragged away once again, and the crowd of pirates rushed back over the planks. A sudden rush of wind and heat caught Dean’s attention, and he saw that the ship was on fire. The ship was taking off in the direction they had been originally heading, leaving the flaming ship in the distance until it was no more than a speck.

As the sailed further away from the burning wreckage, the pirates filled the air with laugher and song, bellowing their victory over the waves. A few men were taken below to see the ships doctor, and Dean was told to find the carpenter to assess the damage to the railing and deck. Afterward it was up to him and Charlie to count the spoils of the battle and cart them back below deck. The fight had gained them a few crates of gunpowder, three barrels of ale, two barrels of biscuits, thirteen-hundred pieces of silver, all the enemy ship’s flags, the enemy ship’s top sail (the other sails were too damaged to steal), and several hundred feet of cording, rope, and chain.

Dean’s entire body ached by the time he, Charlie, and a few other sailors had charted the loot down to the storage deck. He was thankful that Charlie dragged him off to the galley after they finished. He was almost certain that if he was expected to spend a few hours out in the sun after everything they had gone through, he would pass out and die of heat sickness.

He downed an entire mug of ale without a second thought, then tore into the salted beef Charlie had offered. He didn’t have much time to worry about how much of a godawful mess he probably was. He was too tired and sore, and hungry, and thirsty to even be bothered.

“So, how’d you like your first sea battle?” Charlie asked with a small smile.

“Not how I planned on spending my birthday, but it could’ve been worse,” Dean said, shoving another biscuit in his mouth.

“It’s your birthday?” Charlie gasped.

Dean nodded and hummed in affirmation through the biscuit in his mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t think it mattered,” Dean said. He didn’t even bother to swallow before he answered her.

“What? Of course, it matters! We’ll celebrate when we get to shore, don’t you worry,” Charlie said, shoving him in the shoulder, “We’ll get you nice and smashed!”

“What are we celebrating?”

Dean jumped when Castiel was suddenly beside him, brow pinching together as he squinted at both Dean and Charlie.

“It’s Dean’s birthday today,” Charlie said.

“That so?” Castiel asked, casting his slanted gaze down towards Dean. He wanted to duck down, out of the line of scrutiny, but he held still.

“Aye,” Dean said.

“Oh, well, Happy Birthday, then,” Castiel said. “I have something for you but it is unrelated.” He pulled several gold pieces and a few silver pieces from his pocket, setting them down in front of Dean. “For your work today.”

“Uh, thank you,” Dean said, running his fingers over the smooth coins in front of him.

“Charlie, you’ll see me in my quarters for yours?”

She nodded.

“Right then,” Castiel dipped his head almost shyly, opening and shutting his mouth a few times before finally coming up with words. “I heard about your shooting today, Dean. Good work.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Right, well, I will see you both later,” Castiel said before ducking out as quickly as he came.

Dean remained silent for the rest of the day, unsure of the exact cause of the unease in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Your love helps keep me going, so thank you.  
> If you wanna[come talk](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/) to me, I'm over here on tumblr.
> 
> A/N: I should note what's going on here. Pirates often flew flags of friendly countries so as not to arouse suspicion of their presence. When they got close enough to another ship they felt was worth attacking, they'd just attack, catching the other ship off guard. The ship that attacks Cas's ship, is another band of pirates.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a handy [pirate glossary](http://pirateglossary.com/) in case you need it.

Dean had expected to be more affected by the battle. He had expected to be more disturbed by the fact that he shot a man – that he killed someone – but he wasn’t. He had credited his easy sleep the first night to exhaustion. After the battle and short celebration, work continued on board as normal. He still had to run back and forth, up and down, on the decks all day under the oppressive heat. He still had to check the inventory, which now required going through all the extra loot and adding it to their previous stores. He still had to eat and go about business like there was nothing out of the ordinary. By the time curfew came Dean was exhausted. He crashed into his bunk and slept hard. He didn’t even move until Gavin woke him the next morning.

The next few days were the same as they had been since he was made cabin boy. Balthazar was still a dick, Charlies was still nice, and Meg still called him a princess, but in a strange way, Dean felt as though the normalcy was all wrong. Something was off but he couldn’t quite figure out what. Granted, the whole thing was off. He was supposed to be getting married in a few days. Sam would be arriving just about now, and they’d have maybe a few hours here or there to catch up when they were being bogged down the duties. Dean didn’t have a solid idea of what he was supposed to be doing to prepare for the wedding, he started daydreaming whenever his grandfather Samuel and advisor Bobby talked about it, but he knew he was probably in for a lot of nonsense meetings with foreign dignitaries and formal gatherings. Dean never was one for the pomp and circumstance. Most of the time he could just bite his tongue and smile, but he would’ve actually been expected to speak to people and play by the script. He wouldn’t dwell too much on whether or not he would feel guilty or relieved or both for the change in circumstance.

This was his normal now. This pirate life was his normal. And this normal included eating shoe leather meat, running around the decks all day, and stealing from other pirates. And, maybe, sometimes it included killing other pirates. Perhaps he shouldn’t be okay with that, but, he wasn’t going to allow himself to dwell on it for too long. If everyone else was content to act as if everything was normal then so was he.

~~~~~

Lusus Naturae was every bit as bleak as Dean had imagined it. It was high tide when the ship was docked in a rocky cove, surrounded on all sides by a black, jagged cliff. Dean stared up at it as the ship pulled close to the shore and was swallowed by its shadow. When the ship came to a shop Dean found himself and the rest of the crew ushered off the boat and ordered to pull the ropes until the ship teetered on its side and the bottom rose out of the water. Gavin and a few other men ran a line from the mast to a large boulder on the shore keeping the ship tilted enough so that Dean and the other men could let go of their own ropes.

The processes was called heaving down, and involved several hours of inspection on the part of the carpenter, scrapping down barnacles, and re-tarring the belly of the ship. The process had to be repeated a second time, but turning the ship around and tilting it up again.

Dean was soaked all the way through his pant legs, wet sand sticking to his skin and hiding in the crevices of his knees. Usually, he didn’t mind a little water or sand but the whole feeling of it made his skin itch. The sand was too rough, the water dragging him down and making his movements slow and heavy. Added to the fact that there was no wildlife anywhere around, not even gulls set him on edge. Granted, it wasn’t likely that an entire pirate crew was going to be attacked, but the best time to attack would be when there was no way to get away quickly.

The task was finished without incident, and the final chores of the day were undertaken. Lusus Naturae was a strange place, in that pirates, could come and go as they pleased. Back in Winchester, any pirate who set his boots on shore had a death wish. Here, however, there was no monarch, no policy against piracy, and very few consequences. Local tribal leaders could refuse to serve pirates in the inns and taverns that dotted the shores, but they would be foolish to do so. According to Charlie, Castiel’s crew landed on this coast once every six months. Castiel had some business apparently, and the rest of the crew took it as an opportunity to spend their pilfered salaries on liquor and women.

Dean was more than ready to set foot on dry land. It had been weeks since he stood on something solid. Gavin also seemed more than ready to get Dean onto dry land.

“Come on then, Dean, there’s a nice little pub somewhere over in that direction,” Gavin said, swinging an arm around Dean’s shoulder and pointing off towards the shore. “You ever had mulberry ale? Gods, that’s a nice one! Knock you right on your arse if you have enough. You drink much Dean?”

 “Uh, not really?”

“Well then, no time like the present to get started!” Gavin said, squeezing Dean tight to his side, making him lose his balance and fall further into Gavin’s chest. “You wanna be a pirate, you gotta start learnin’ to hold your liquor. Preferably with both hands, aye?”

Dean forced a stifled chuckle as Gavin lead him towards the edge of the ship. “Don’t you worry, Dean-o, I’ll make sure you’re still sober enough to go a round or two with any of the wenches you fancy,” Gavin said. He let go of Dean’s arm when they reached the edge of the ship and he threw his leg over the side and onto the rope ladder.

Dean was just about to swing a leg over after him when Balthazar called out from behind him, “Where do you think you’re going, cabin boy?”

Dean sighed, turning to face the man standing just a few feet away from him. “Ashore, Quartermaster.”

“You don’t have permission for that,” he said, “actually, the captain needs you in his quarters, right away.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean muttered as Balthazar whisked past him and over the ship side.

“I’d run along if I was you. Cassie tends to get pissy when he’s kept waiting.” Balthazar flashed a slick little smiled and hastened down the ladder, calling out to Gavin on his way down. Dean couldn’t make out what he was shouting, but it sounded something like a bet.

Dean rolled his eyes and made his way past several crewmates who were either leaving or setting up a card game on the deck. Gambling wasn’t allowed on the ship, but that didn’t stop many of the pirates from practicing their skills. Ash was quite adept at both cards and dice, and if Dean hadn’t seen him play with his sleeves rolled up he would have sworn he was cheating. If he made his way to shore at some point he would probably come back with half the country’s wealth in winnings.

Dean knocked on the cabin door once before pushing it open and stepping inside. The captain’s quarters were fairly boring to look at. The furniture was dark wood, probably mahogany, but most of it was covered in maps and navigation instruments. Castiel took it upon himself to plot their courses, which for the most part seemed to be just outside of trade routes. Sometimes they seemed to meander on the seas, but that wasn’t always the case.

There was a bookshelf in the corner of the room, and the stern side was covered in windows, and a single bed sat in the corner. Unlike the bunks, the captain’s bed looked like it could fit two people, and was covered in dove gray sheets rather than a single wool blanket. It wasn’t nearly as big or as ornate as the one Dean used to have in his bedchamber in the castle, but it was larger than what he was currently sleeping in. There was a screen next to the bed, and a shadow, most likely Castiel, moving behind it.

“Captain,” Dean said, “I was told you needed me.”

Castiel jumped and the screen wavered. A single hand reached around the keep it from toppling over, and Dean caught the shadow of what he could only guess were trousers fall down Castiel’s legs.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” Castiel asked, his voice raising in a near squeak towards the end.

“I, um, Balthazar said that you needed to see me,” Dean said. He couldn’t help but fidget as Castiel steadied the screen and straightened up, pulling what Dean was now sure were trousers back up his legs.

“Balthazar?” Castiel asked, peeking over the side of the screen. His hair stuck up in odd places and his shoulder and upper arms were bare. He had to be naked, or at least partly naked behind that screen. He couldn’t have just woken up; no one was aboard the ship while it was being scraped. He hadn’t seen anyone come out of the captain’s quarters in the past little while. Balthazar must have if he knew that Castiel needed Dean. That could mean…no. No, Dean wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t naïve by any means. He knew that occasionally men, sailors, got lonely on the open ocean. He’d heard stories. And, now that he was living on a pirate ship he had heard…things…in the middle of the night that he knew weren’t the result of solo activity. But that had been on the open ocean, not when they were docked anywhere. There wouldn’t be a reason for Castiel and Balthazar to be up to anything, especially now that they could find women to take care of that.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, coming from behind the screen. He was still naked from the waist up, and Dean couldn’t help but stare a bit. Castiel was apparently not a small man. He was built better than Dean was, with broad shoulder and delicately carved muscles in his chest and arms. That coat he wore didn’t do his form any favors.

“Uhm, I don’t know. He just said you needed me and I shouldn’t keep you waiting,” Dean said, averting his eyes to the floor.

Castile grumbled, pulling out drawers and rustling fabric. “I didn’t send for you.”

“Oh.”

“Where’s Balthazar now?” Castiel asked, the bed creaking from off in the corner. Dean looked up to find Castiel sitting on his bed now, lacing his boots up. He was dressed, but not in his usual coat. Now, he was wearing a blouse, not unlike Dean’s, except it was barely tied in a loose knot several inches below his collar, displaying a soft tuft of dark hair. The trousers he wore were frayed around the cuffs, though he rolled them over on themselves until they hid only the tops of his boots.

“He went to shore, sir,” Dean said.

Castiel groaned, throwing his head to the sky. “Of course he did.” He ran a hand through his hair, causing more of it to stick up. “Well, I suppose I do need you then, Dean.” He rose from the bed and made his way to the desk, where he kneeled on the floor and braced his hands against the polished wood. He pushed, and the desk scooted across the floor by a few inches. He then lifted up a single board and pulled four bags from the floor. They jingled as he set them behind him.

He then placed the board back and directed Dean to the other side of the desk, instructing him to push until Castiel told him to stop. Dean did as he was told, squatting and bracing himself against the wood as he had seen Castiel do. When Castiel gave him the signal, he pushed, only for it to move no more than half an inch. He strained against the desk, throwing his full weight into it, only for the desk to give way and scooted several more inches and veer to the right, knocking Dean off balance. Luckily, he caught himself on his hands, but it didn’t stop him from feeling as dumb as if he had fallen flat on his face. He heard Castiel’s small, thick chuckle just before the desk scraped against the wood, Castiel at the other end setting it straight again.

When Dean rose to his feet, he didn’t have time to say anything before Castiel was dropping two of the bags into his arms.

He didn’t say a word until they reached the starboard side of the boat, where the smaller, single row boats were located. Castiel chucked the two bags he held into the boat then climbed inside. Dean followed suit, taking Castiel’s hand in order to get in without losing his balance. Castiel made quick work of the knots and kept the boat relatively steady as he pulled the rope through the pulley attached to the ship. The boat wavered in the air in its decent, and Dean clung to the sides of the small vessel in an attempt to keep himself steady.

“You get seasick?” Castiel asked, his eyes still on the rope above his head.

“This isn’t the sea, this is the air,” Dean said, staring at the wood in front of him.

Castiel shook his head, the corner of his mouth turning slightly upward. When the waves finally licked at the belly of the boat, Castiel let go of the ropes and Dean resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Castiel then kicked the side of the ship, pushing their tiny boat away and into the water. He retrieved a set of oars from the inside of the boat and handed them to Dean.

“We need to head north along the coast,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded, but said nothing, dipping the paddles into the water and rowing towards the north. They were both silent for a while, the gentle slosh of the water on the boat and distant shrieking of gulls the only sound.

“So, am I allowed to ask what this is about?” Dean asked, a few minutes after they had lost sight of the ship.

“You may ask.”

Dean scoffed, barely able to suppress and eye roll. “Okay, what is this about?”

“Payment.”

“For what?”

“Safe travel, essentially,” Castiel said. He was sitting at the bow of the boat, legs splayed out in front of him and arms dangling over the edge of the boat behind him. He was facing off towards the coast. Dean couldn’t help but notice the way is profile looked in the warm sunlight. His jaw was strong, not too sharp, but not soft like a woman’s. His cheekbones were high, his nose sloped in a soft downturn, and if Dean didn’t know better, he would say Castiel was the prince, and he the pirate.

“You’re staring,” Castiel stated, not tearing his gaze away from the shore in front of him.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered, shaking his head, “just, why? The land around here changes hands so often I can’t imagine anyone around here actually, has any control over the sea in this area.”

Castiel shook his head. “No. That would be stupid. There’s an island not too far from where we’re docked. It’s more of a halfway point between me and my contact. That’s who we’re paying tribute to.”

“Tribute to what? You’re a pirate. It’s not like anyone can really tell you what to do, is it?” Dean asked.

“It’s complicated. But also not of import at the moment.”

“Whatever you say,” Dean muttered.

Castiel said nothing after that and Dean continued rowing. Just as his arms were starting to ache, Castiel directed him to head for a small patch of land to the northwest. The island was just and rough and craggy as the mainland, with only sparse weeds and seaweed on the shore. Another small boat was sitting in the water, not too far from the shore. Inside sat two men, both blonde and dressed from head to toe in silver garments that shone so brightly that Dean had to squint when facing them head on.

When the boat ran aground both Dean and Castiel got out of the boat and pulled it to shore. The men in the other boat leap onto shore as well.

“Stay here, in the boat,” Castiel said, taking the bags for himself and heading off towards the other men.

Dean did as he was told, plopping back down in the boat and watching. The taller of the blonde men had several inches on Castiel and seemed to be the one in charge. Dean couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he seemed to be the one doing the majority of the talking. He cast several glances towards Dean while the spoke, each time scowling. The shorter and younger looking blonde man keep his eyes on Dean the whole time, his lips turned down in a frown. The taller man gestured with his hands a lot, and though Dean could not see Castiel’s face, he guessed that with the quick succession of hand motions the man was making, he wasn’t giving off the impression that whatever the taller man was saying was making an impact.

After Castiel dropped the bags of gold onto the sand he dipped his head once and spun on his heels, making his way back to the small boat where Dean was with his head held high. Dean leaped out of the boat and the two of them pushed it back into the water.

They were just a few yard past the shore when Castiel said “I think I need a drink. Do you fancy a drink, Dean?”

~~~~

The pub that Castiel took Dean to was just about as strange as he had imagined. The whole thing was dark, dank, and a little disturbing. Animal skins lined the walls and floors, but rather than bear or deer skins, they were snakes and alligators and stuffed birds. The aim was humid and stunk of sweat, ale, and blood.

Castiel pulled them towards a table in the corner of the room. He took the seat in the corner, and Dean sat next to him. Castiel was able to persuade him away from trying the mulberry ale and instructed him to stick to something familiar, because, according to Castiel, mulberry could cause violent hallucinations.

Dean stuck with an ale made from barley and juniper berries, which was much tarter than the kind he was used to, but the scent was familiar and that was almost enough. He had plowed his way through two and a half pints before he remembered that Castiel had been the one to suggest drinking.

“Why’d you want to do this?” Dean asked, licking a few stray drops of ale from his upper lip.

“Pardon?” Castiel asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Well, I just figured that whoever it was you were talking to back on the beach got on your nerves and that’s why you wanted to come here.”

“That’s usually why one suggests drinking, yes,” Castiel said, sipping from his own pint.

“So what did they say or do that got you so upset?” Dean asked.

“I’m not sure that’s a conversation for mixed company.”

“That bad, huh?” Dean asked, leaning backward in his chair until it thumped against the wall.

“Not per say. Just not something that needs to be discussed here.”

“Are you gonna be like this all the time?” Dean asked.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him before tipping his head to the side, like a dog. Dean snorted, despite himself.

“What are you talking about?” Castiel asked.

“You’re all mysterious. You’re some strange pirate who plucks me out of the ocean and take me away from my normal life and I know nothing about you. No one seems to know anything about you. You’re just so strange man who doesn’t talk but stares daggers at people and meets up with shiny men on a distant beach on the outskirts of an anarchy state.”

“Shiny men?”

“Yeah, the guys on the beach. They were all shiny. Why?”

Castiel chuckled behind his pint. “It’s standard dress where they’re from.”

“And you’re not going to tell me because we’re in mixed company.”

Castiel only nodded, and Dean rolled his eyes, before going back to his ale. He chugged a quarter of the remaining liquid and sighed, pushing the metal stein away from him and towards the center of the table. “So are you at least going to tell me anything that doesn’t make you so mysterious anymore?”

“Like what?” Castiel asked.

“I don’t know. What’s your backstory?”

Castiel squinted. “My backstory?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s got one. Especially on a pirate ship. Who were you before you were a pirate, Captain?”

Castiel sat up straight tipping his head and drawing his gaze up and down Dean’s body. An odd feeling fluttered in Dean’s ribcage, and he coughed in an attempt to expel it.

“Who I was is not important. It’s who I am now that matters.”

Dean shook his head. “Well at least tell me something. Where are you from? What’s your family like? Do you even have a family?”

Castiel leaned back, sighing heavily before speaking. “I have a family,” he said, “but they and I are much different from each other. I have a few cousins on board, mainly Balthazar and Marv. We’re from another country, one which I feel as much allegiance to as I do to this pub.”

Dean whistled. “Damn. That’s either a serious endorsement of this rickety hell-hole or near treason.”

“Are you insulting this fine establishment, Dean? If so I may have to tell the owner.”

Dean held up his hands defensively, “If that’s how you feel about it, then…” Dean stopped midsentence when he saw the corner of Castiel’s mouth twitch just once, “Wait a minute, did you just make a joke?”

Castiel snorted them, ducking his head to his chest as his shoulder shook.

“So you do have a sense of humor!” Dean laughed, smiling a full, happy smile for the first time in weeks.

“It’s been known to make an appearance every once in a while,” Castiel said, his eyes twinkling in the low light. “What about you, Dean? I know your title, but what about you?”

Dean’s smile faltered, and he found himself staring down and the rough wood surface in front of him. “I don’t know. There’s not much to tell, I suppose. If you wanted someone interesting you probably should have kidnapped my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, Sam. He’s brilliant. He’s off in a monastery.”

“A religious man, then?”

“Nah. Well, maybe. Probably more than I am but I don’t know. He went there to study ancient texts and laws and things like that. He had already blown through everything we had in our libraries, and seeing as he was the younger son academics just seemed to be a good fit I suppose. I had the duties and he had the books.”

“What kind of duties does someone of your stature have?”

Dean sucked down the last of his ale, then cleared his throat. “The usual. Take my father’s place. Get married. Have an heir and a spare. I, I actually was supposed to get married a while back. Before all this. Then I was supposed to, you know, birthrights and all.”

Castiel nodded. “I’m sorry. If I would have known you had a fiancé waiting for you…”

“Nah,” Dean said shaking his head. “It’s alright. Actually, I…” Dean paused for just a moment before speaking in a whisper, “I’m not upset about it. I didn’t want to get married anyway. I thought this was punishment, from the gods, but now, I don’ know if punishment is the right word.”

Dean lifted his eyes, expecting to meet some kind of scorn of judgment, but instead Castiel was just watching him.

“That’s alright, too, you know. Marriage is tricky business,” Castiel said slowly.

“I suppose. It’s not like it was anything more than an alliance, anyway.”

“Were you not attracted to her?”

“No, she was great. Real nice. And sweet. And pretty funny, too.”

“But not attractive to you?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m not…” he paused, the alcohol making his tongue slow and his brain fuzzy, “I’m not a virgin. I’ve slept with women. Lots of women. But not Sarah. Not even when it was almost expected and would have been completely fine, considering the whole heir thing. But, I don’t know. It just…I’ve always felt like there was something missing.”

Castiel nodded, his eyes tinged with something soft, something gentle, that Dean didn’t have words for. “I think I understand. How about I get us something to eat?” And with that, Castiel rose to his feet and made his way towards the bar.

Dean nodded, not fully understanding what had just transpired. He hadn’t lied, but somehow it seemed as though he had said something he never quite allowed himself to think about before. Sure, he didn’t want to marry Sarah, and the idea of marriage was a little unnerving as a concept, but he’d never really thought too much about why. It had never occurred to him that he wanted something else or that something might have been missing when it came to his relations with women, he just knew that it hadn’t been nearly as exciting as many of his friends had claimed it was. Most of the reason he had slept with so many women was because he had been trying to find that mind boggling experience he had heard of so many times, but never found.

A loud noise drew Dean out of his thoughts and he jerked in his chair. A man stood in front of him, hands braced on the table in front of him. “I was talking to you!” The man hissed through broken, jagged teeth.

“I’m sorry?”

The man leaned over the table, right in Dean’s face. He smelled like musky floorboards and blood. Deep scars ran in every direction across his skinny face, and his nose was crooked.

“I said, how much for the night?” He hissed.

“Excuse me?” Dean asked.

“Don’t play dumb, boy. I know what you are. You’re too old to be a cabin boy, too damn skinny to be a pirate.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The man reached out and ran his sharp nails across Dean’s jaw before he pulled back and struck him across the cheek. Dean yelped and drew back, but the man pulled him forward by the shirt collar.

“Don’t play stupid, little whore,” he snarled.

Then, all at once there was a flurry of movement behind the two of them. The man was pulled off Dean and slammed down on the table in front of him. Dean looked up to see Castiel, standing over his attacker, his hand on his throat. Castiel loomed over the man, squeezing against his throat until the man gasped and sputtered.

“Don’t you dare touch my men, you vile cockroach,” Castiel growled.

“So-sorry,” the man gasped, “didn’t realize he was your little bitch.”

Dean winced at the way he spat the words, and that was all it took for Castiel to drag the man upwards by his neck and slam him back down onto the table, twice. There was more commotion from behind, as other patrons stood to watch as Castiel landed a single punch to the middle of the man’s face.

The man groaned, turning his head to the side, and barely noticed that he was bleeding before Castiel wiped his hand down his front then offered it to Dean. He looked back down at the man as Castiel hissed, “You touch any of my men again, Alastair, and you’ll wish I killed you.”

And then Castiel whisked him out of the pub and back into the open air, as the sun was setting.

“Are they gonna come after us?” Dean asked, looking over his shoulder at the pub that was quickly vanishing in the distance.

“Not if they’re wise.”

“Then why are we running?”

“Because if we’re around too much longer, I might just have to go back there and hit him again.”

Dean snorted and laughed until he stumbled, causing Castiel to practically drag him back to the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading. I hope you're enjoying the story so far.   
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.   
> If you wanna come talk to me, I'm [over here](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need it, here's a handy [pirate glossary](http://www.pirateglossary.com/).  
> Also, I updated the tags just to give you all a heads up. They may not be relevant in this chapter, but they will be in the future.

Dean awoke the next morning exhausted. His head throbbed, his limbs were heavy, and every little light and sound hurt his eyes and made his stomach churn. He must’ve gotten a lot drunker than he thought. Either that or the alcohol was much stronger in Lasus Naturae than it was on both the ship and Winchester.

After Castiel dragged Dean back to the ship, Dean continued to drink, this time goaded on by some of the other men who had stayed back on the ship or had wandered back on their own. Ash pulled out the playing cards, and Dean, Ash, Meg, and Eli wound up playing several hands. It was a blessing that gambling wasn’t allowed aboard, otherwise, Dean was fairly certain that he would have lost most of the money he still had. As it was, Meg had suggested stripping as an alternative to gold, and after Dean lost his trousers she almost didn’t give them back.

When the sun rose and the crew sprang to life once again, Dean was certain he was going to vomit sometime during the day. The food was even more appealing than usual, and even the more subdued noise of the cafeteria was almost too much for him to bare.

“Late night?” Charlie asked, plopping down across from him. Her metal plate rattled against the wooden table.

Dean groaned, shaking his head wearily. He rubbed at his throbbing temples with both hands, keeping his eyes pinched shut.

Charlie chuckled across the table. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Gods, I hope not. How does anyone get used to feeling like this?” He groaned, folding his arms on the table and resting his forehead on top of them.

“It’s just a hangover. You’ll get used to the alcohol eventually, and you won’t get them as often.”

“You do know I’ve gotten drunk before right?”

“Not the way you’re acting.”

Dean lolled his head, looking up at Charlie where she was sitting, wrestling with the dried beef between her teeth.

“Just you wait until we’re on deck and you get to spend all day in the sunshine,” she said.

Dean groaned again, this time louder and much more pathetic. “Kill me now,” he muttered.

“Quit your bitchin, kid. It’s not that bad.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t spend the whole night drinking.”

Charlie shrugged, finally tearing a bite of meat off before downing it with a swig of ale. She belched, and Dean winced. “What did you do last night?” He asked.

Charlie smiled a soft, devious little smile. “I went ashore,” she said.

“No shit. What did you do?”

“You don’t want to hear about that. Boring stuff. I heard you got to schmooze the captain last night,” she said.

“Schmooze? Are you joking? I just helped him out with a favor. It was pretty much the same thing I always do,” Dean said.

Charlie shrugged again. “Yeah, but the two of you spent a lot more time together last night than you ever have. Plus there was alcohol involved. So, what did you find out?” She asked.

“Are you really trying to gossip about the captain right now?”

“To be fair he’s pretty aloof. He only hangs out with Balthazar. And apparently Marv. How anyone can actually stand to do that is beyond me, but that’s not my business. So, what did you find out?” She set her elbows up on the table, bracing her chin between her hands.

“I don’t know Charlie. Probably nothing you don’t already know. Actually, we just talked about me the whole time.”

“Lame. You’re not supposed to talk all about yourself, Dean. It’s rude.”

“It’s not like I didn’t ask, he just, didn’t answer. Said it wasn’t appropriate for mixed company,” Dean said. He sat up, taking a drink from his own pint. The wet liquid felt nice against his throat but didn’t do much else.

Charlie raised an eyebrow and narrowed her lips. “Do I want to know or…”

Dean scoffed. “No! Gods. Why would you even… how does your mind even go there?”

Charlie tipped her head to the side, casting her eyes down towards the plate in front of her. “You’re the one who said you couldn’t talk about it in public.”

“Maybe next time you go ashore you should find yourself a companion for the night.”

Charlie blushed and sucked her lip between her teeth.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Really? That’s what you were doing last night?”

“Shut up, Dean.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head and trying desperately to stave off images of Charlie and some faceless, sleazy pirate out of his mind. That was the last thing he wanted to think about, especially with the headache he already had. The idea of Charlie and some guy made his skin crawl. It wasn’t jealousy, that was for sure, but there was just something that made his stomach turn when thinking about Charlie having sex. Maybe it was because, even though she was older and more than capable of caring for herself, he felt protective over her. “Please, for the love of everything good and wholesome in this world tell me he wasn’t one of those creepy pub crawling heathens.”

“No! No, no, no. Gross.”

“Good,” Dean said.

“She was a barmaid.”

Dean sat up a little straighter, eyes open as wide as he could stand in the low light of the cafeteria. “That, uh, that’s…that’s safe. Probably. I suppose.”

Charlie smiled, snickering. “Well, that’s one way to look at it.”

Dean nodded, his tongue suddenly glued to the roof of his mouth.

“This isn’t going to be a problem is it?” She asked, a dark, low edge to her words.

Dean shook his head quickly. “No, no, nuh-uh. Not at all.”

“Good,” she chirped, slapping him on the shoulder, “now eat your breakfast, you don’t get out of working just because you’ve got a headache.”

Dean half-heartedly gnawed at his jerky while Charlie ploughed through her biscuit. It was going to be a long day.

~~~~~

Dean threw up about an hour after making it up to the main deck.  He’d only had to help Charlie inspect the rigging but the steadily rising sun and focus it required made him sick. Charlie rubbed his back while he hurled over the side of the ship, frowning at him when she sent him to the infirmary to get something to settle his stomach. Dean had never been more embarrassed in his life. Sure, there was that time when he fell off his pony the first time he’d tried to ride one, but he was a child at the time and he was more worried that he’d broken something than anything else. And there was that time one of the servant girls, Rhonda, asked him to try on her bloomers, but that was more of a pre-emptive embarrassment. Actually, wearing them was kind of exciting. Regardless, getting sick enough to be sent to the infirmary while he was on a ship full of pirates was humiliating. The crew was never going to leave him alone about this.

Dean had made his way halfway to the infirmary when Castiel’s low rumble sounded directly behind him. “There you are, Dean.”

Dean turned, jumping when he found himself face to face with Castiel, who just squinted at him as if Dean were the one acting odd.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked.

“Yes, uh, sir. I’m fine. You startled me.”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked, peering down the hallway behind Dean.  

“The infirmary, sir.”

“You’re sick?”

Dean shifted, drawing his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “It’s probably just a hangover. I, uh, got ill.”

Castiel frowned, his lips pursed tightly. “Come with me,” he said, tugging at Dean’s wrist and spinning on his heels. Dean stumbled after him, stomach lurching with Castiel’s swift strides. They made their way back up through the ship until they reached the captain’s quarters, and Castiel held the door open while Dean stepped inside.

Castiel walked towards his deck, leaving Dean to hover in the doorway. He bent down, the top of his head the only thing visible over the top of his desk. He popped back up suddenly, a small jar in his hand. He waved Dean over to him, uncorking the bottle single-handedly, then set it on the desk.

“Here, chew on this,” he said, holding a thin tan strip between his fingers.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Willow bark. It will help with the headache. I have some liquorice around here somewhere, too.”

“You want me to eat bark…” Dean twirled the tiny piece of bark between his fingers.

“Yes, Dean. It will help.”

“Weird.”

Cas squinted at him, brow furrowing as he frowned. “You’ve never chewed on willow bark before? What did you use in Winchester if you felt ill?”

Dean shrugged, still staring at the flimsy, curly piece of wood. “Usually it was tea. And it was awful.”

“It’s probably the same thing then. Tea would be easier to ingest perhaps but it’s less hassle to just chew the bark.”

Dean wasn’t totally buying it. Granted, it probably wasn’t going to hurt anything, but it was still weird.

He must’ve been taking too much time for Castiel’s liking, because he put his hand on Dean’s forearm, pushing it slightly towards his face.

Dean rolled his eyes and popped the bark into his mouth, tucking it into the pocket of his cheek.

“Well?” Castiel asked.

“It tastes like tree.”

Castiel snorted, then dipped back down to put the jar away. “After your head stops aching I’ll give you the liquorice.”

“Are you bribing me with candy so I’ll take my medicine? I’m not a child you know.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirked upward briefly. “If you choose to see it that way, Dean. I’m only trying to help.”

Dean rolled the bark around in his mouth. It was still a little too dry for him to even attempt to chew it, which he figured would be the case for a while. “So what now?”

Castiel shrugged. “If you would like you could rest for a while. You’re welcome to stay here. I imagine it’s much quieter than the rest of the ship. Take the bed if you’d like, sleep for a while.”

“Are you sure, sir? I still have things I need to get done…”

Castiel waved him off, taking the seat behind his desk. “Sleep, Dean. Charlie and Balthazar can handle themselves. Besides, you’re not off the hook for the whole day anyway. I have things I require of you, but they can wait until you’re rested.”

“You’re sure?”

“Dean, go to sleep.” Castiel looked up at him with a soft little frown, one that Dean would call tender if he didn’t know better.

Dean made his way towards the bed in the corner of the room, plopping down and nestling into the sheets. Castiel’s bed was much more comfortable than the one he slept on. He was pretty sure this was an actual bed, not some hay-stuff cot. And the pillows were actually soft instead of the half-fluffed, mostly flat thing he’d been laying his head on for the past month or so. They smelled faintly of flowery soap and sweat, and Dean chased the scent, nuzzling his nose into the fabric, and allowed himself to drift into dream. For the first time in weeks, his sleep was pleasant, though the images were fleeting and impermanent. He dreamed of his mother, her golden hair shining in the sunlight, the two of them sitting in an open field. Somewhere in the distance, Sam laughed and yelled, weaving in and out of the distant tree line. A dog barked, and blue birds flew overhead. Everything was right in the world.

~~~~~~

Dean was jarred away by the slam of the cabin door. He jerked up with a start, confused and hazy all at once.

“Dean,” Castiel, called from behind his desk, “are you alright?”

Dean mentally took inventory of the situation. He was in Castiel’s bed, in his cabin, on the ship. He still had his knife attached to his belt, he was still alright. He opened his mouth to speak but sputtered when a strange, stringy fiber caught on his teeth. He nodded, pulling the fiber from his mouth.

Castiel chucked. “I apologize for the rude awakening. Are you feeling better?”

Actually, he was. That was kind of unexpected. He didn’t really think holding bark in his mouth would actually work, but apparently, it did.

“Yeah,” Dean said, grimacing at the wet wood between his fingers, “what do I do with this?”

Castiel shrugged. “Swallow it, spit it out, whatever.”

A quick survey of the room provided no visible wastebasket, so Dean begrudgingly but the thing back in his mouth and swallowed. It felt about three times thicker going down his throat than it did in his mouth. He rose from the bed, feet coming down against the cool wood.

“How long was I out for?” Dean asked.

“A few hours,” Castiel said. He was still seated at his desk a pen scratching back and forth on a piece of parchment. “Are you hungry?”

Dean’s stomach growled answering for him. “Yeah, kind of.”

Castiel pulled out another drawer, waving Dean over with a single hand as he drug through the drawers. Dean sat in the chair across from him as Castiel pour two glasses of what smelled him whisky. He pulled out a small, cloth wrapped package and unfolded it in the center of his desk. It was two small loaves of bread and what looked like a roll of smoked sausage. He snapped the sausage in half and offered an end to Dean, a single eyebrow raised. He took it without saying anything and immediately took a large bite. For the first time in more than a month, the meat was actually easy to chew. And it actually tasted like real meat and not dried out leather. He groaned into the bite, letting his eyes flutter shut and savouring the tang and spice on his tongue.

“Where did you get his?” Dean nearly moaned.

Castiel coughed, dipping his head. “There’s a butcher not too far from the village. I sent Balthazar for it a while back.”

Dean took another bite, not caring that he was speaking with his mouth full and spewing food all over the place. “If the crew knew you had this they’d mutiny.”

Castiel chucked. “I highly doubt that. They’re free to purchase whatever they wish as long as we’re landed.”

“Yeah, but the stuff they give us to eat? This is the food of the gods compared to that.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad, Dean.”

“It’s not this good, either.”

Castiel’s lips twitched briefly, but he said nothing.

They ate in a relatively pleasant silence, Dean scarfing down the sausage and half his loaf of bread before he even touched the whisky. Castiel, on the other hand, ate slowly, nursing his whisky in between alternating bites of meat and bread.

“While you’re still here, Dean there are a few things I wanted to ask you about,” Castiel said, thumbing through one of the small stacks of papers on his desk.

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

Castiel retrieved a small map of the known land and set it in front of Dean, turning it so it was right side up in Dean’s view. It wasn’t nearly as expansive as the ones Dean had seen when he was studying the politics of his own kingdom, leaving most of the small, semi-independent clans inside of Winchester unnamed, but it was adequate.

“I need to know the political alliances of your kingdom and all the other sea-faring nations that you know of,” Castiel said.

Dean frowned, looking down at the map. “Why?”

“It’s advantageous to keep a low profile, to hide our identities if we need to in ways that don’t seem too out of place, even if we’re not attacking anyone. Flying the flag of the Winchester kingdom in waters controlled by Gehenna is a disastrous idea, however, flying the flag of the Lucius kingdom isn’t, especially with Queen Abaddon in control of the territory.”

“Fair enough,” Dean said, squinting down at the map. Most of the labelled places were familiar to Dean, like the kingdoms of Winchesters, Harvelle, Tran, and Belle. Gehenna and Lusus Naturae and Angles were also familiar, but there were several little islands between Angles, the ice kingdom in the far North, and Gehenna that he did not recognize.

“Are all of these independent kingdoms?” Dean asked, jabbing his finger at the page.

“Not all of them,” Castiel said, “Lucius is, but most of these are disputed territory technically under the rule of King Michael of Angles. Though they do change hands quite often. They’re more trouble than their worth, to be honest.”

“I thought Lucius was under the control of Gehenna.”

“It was for many years. Recently it’s splintered off, however. I’m sure Queen Abaddon would love to have it, considering it’s full of detractors and exiles from Gehenna and Angles, mostly rogues with a decent amount of military training, but as long as King Michael supports them she won’t dare touch them.”

“Why would Michael want to support a bunch of rouges?”

“Same reason anyone supports rogues, I suppose. He wants to take Abaddon down, gain more territory. It’s a waste if you ask me. “

Dean snorted.

“Anyway,” Castiel said, tapping his quill back to the West side of the map, “tell me about Winchester.”

“Uh…” Dean paused. He may be a pirate now, but this probably bordered on treason. He could be hanged if he gave away the wrong information. Then again, piracy was also a crime that carried a death sentence, and not just in Winchester. Besides, Castiel was just one pirate captain. It wasn’t like he was really all that interested in all the secrets of the kingdoms. He probably wouldn’t do anything with them anyway if Dean told him. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do. What was one pirate ship against an enter kingdom? Keeping inconspicuous on the seas was more important than giving away ally information. It wasn’t like they were really secrets anyway.

“Winchester is allied with the Tran, Harvelle, and Belle kingdoms. There are a few clans we deal with inside the land but they’re all landlocked. We may or may not be allied with the Blakes.”

Castiel frowned, tipping his head to the side. “What do you mean may or may not be?”

“I was supposed to marry Sarah Blake in order to secure and alliance,” Dean said.

Castiel squinted, tilting his head and crowding into Dean’s space over the table to get a better look at the map. “They’re not on this map. Are they a new kingdom?”

“No, just small. They’re over here,” Dean said, pointing to the sliver of land that broke away from the mainland towards the Southern end of the land, sitting in the junction between the Winchester, Tran and Belle kingdoms. “They have a better army than the clans do, which is really the only reason they’re a kingdom and not just another clan. That and they don’t like to be told what to do. They’ve got the best trade route to the Tran kingdom, which is why my father wanted me to marry Sarah. Her father wanted a stable alliance against the Belles and Trans. As long as they were our allies they were legitimate, and neither the Trans nor the Belles would wage war. As they are now, they’re a fairly easy target.”

Castiel nodded. “So your father wanted to back a burgeoning kingdom for trade. Seems rather foolish if you ask me. You could take it over and accomplish the same thing. Or marry directly into the Tran or Belle line and let someone else take over the area. Tiny kingdoms tend to get self-important.”

Dean shrugged. “There were other offers, but my father believes building alliances is important. I was supposed to take the throne when I came of age, Sarah was of marrying age, and it was convenient. I suppose I could have insisted on waiting, but then I would have had to find my own wife or rely on my grandfather for advice. And, knowing him he’d try to marry me off to someone I can’t stand. At least I like Sarah. Liked Sarah.”

A twinge of something that looked like regret flashed in Castiel’s eyes from a brief moment, drawing the creases around his eyes tight for a moment. “Were you close to your father?” He spoke softly, pulling away from Dean’s space.

Dean nodded. “I learned a lot from him. How to ride a horse, how to use a sword, fire a gun, take orders, make decisions, all the things I needed to. He trained me to be the best king he knew how to be.”

Castiel nodded. “Yet you’re relieved that you don’t have to do any of that now.”

Dean pulled his arms close to his sides and stiffened, back straight against the chair. “That’s not… it’s different. It’s a lot of pressure. And I was never cut out for it anyway. I’m not a leader. I’m better when I take orders. It’s why I fit in here.”

Castiel hummed, putting his knuckle up to his bottom lip. “My father was an asshole,” he said, “I was the youngest, well, youngest of his legitimate children, but the man had bastards all across the countryside. Still, I was faithful, loyal, devoted to him and his orders for years. He could do no wrong in my eyes. What he said and what he did was always justified. I played my part, even if it seemed unreasonable at times. What did I know? He was old and wise and I was young and idealistic. Of course, then the asshole died and I found out just how little he actually mattered. Whatever plans he claimed to have, whatever morals he stood for, they were all lies. So I ran. I stole a ship, got a crew together and became a pirate. Who I was, the obedient little child my father raised? He died the second the wind filled my sails.”

“Well, that’s great, Cas…”

“What I’m saying, Dean, is that who you were, whatever pressure you felt to be the kind of man your father would have approved of no longer exists. You’re your own man here. There is no guilt to be had in being free.”

“You make piracy sound noble.”

“Some of the cruellest men I’ve ever met were nobles. And some of the kindest were pirates.”

Dean nodded. He had nothing to say to that. While the prospect of theft would likely never sit well to Dean it wasn’t like he’d had all that much of a choice. And it wasn’t the worst place he could imagine himself being. But really, what was freedom on a pirate ship? The vast, rolling expanse of the ocean may be huge, but it was just another prison.

“What if I don’t want to be a pirate?” Dean muttered.

“Pardon?” Castiel asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, say what you said before.”

“It’s really….”

“Dean.” Somehow Castiel managed to make his own name sound like a threat, and Dean suppressed a shudder. There was no telling exactly what the pirate could wind up doing if he felt disrespected. Granted, Dean had never seen him be outright cruel, except to Marv, but Marv deserved it.

“I said,” Dean sighed, “what if I don’t want to be a pirate.”

Castiel hummed, “Then you leave.”

“What?”

“I don’t own you, Dean. Your life on this ship is completely voluntary. Make your own life if that’s what you want.” His voice was cold and flat.

Dean ducked his head. He hadn’t meant to upset Castiel, but it wasn’t like he had really much of a choice in the matter. He didn’t ask to be kidnapped. In all his life he’d never imagined life as a pirate. It wasn’t what he’d wanted for himself. Granted, being the king of an entire kingdom, one in which thousands of people depended on his leadership, his knowledge, his strength, that wasn’t something he wanted either.

Castiel cleared his throat, “Anyway, tell me, who are the Trans and Harvelles allied with.”

For the rest of the evening, Dean and Castiel talked politics. If their frequent tangents were anything to go by, Castiel was as disinterested in the topic as Dean was. Their conversations ended up snaking around various topics, from the legends of fallen kingdoms and disastrous kings to the legends of various monsters that were to be found in the seas. Dean, of course, was able to counter with a few of the strange beasts he had heard stalked the forests of Winchester.

The sun had begun it's decent when there was a knock at the door. There was a lull in the conversation, Castiel having just finished talking about the cursed ships that sailed the waters to the east of Gehenna, on the hunt not for treasure, but the souls of damned sailors. Castiel didn’t have time to respond to the knock before Balthazar was coming in through the door.

“Cassie, I was wondering if you…” he stopped in his tracks when he saw Dean sitting at the desk. His eyes darted between Dean and Cas a few times. “Sorry. You’re busy, I’ll leave you to it,” he made a move to back out of the room.

“No, it’s alright. What did you need?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s fine.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, his lips pulled down at one corner. He turned to Dean, “Dean could you give us a moment?”

“No. You do need to send him out. Like I said, it was nothing.” Balthazar smiled, “Certainly not as important and,” he waved his hand vaguely, “whatever’s going on here.”

Castiel shot a dangerous glare in Balthazar’s direction, but Balthazar merely rolled his eyes. Whatever silent communication was going on between the two of them was not something Dean felt he needed to be a part of.

“It’s alright. Charlie is probably looking for me anyway. I’ll, uh, just head out,” Dean said, rising as he did. He gave a bit of a half nod in Castiel’s direction before slipping out the door. Balthazar gave a disapproving snort as he pulled the door closed.

The rest of Dean’s interactions with Castiel were short the entire time the ship was docked.

~~~~

The ship, which Dean had learned was called _The Prince James_ , headed out to sea after a week in Lusus Naturae. (Dean felt like an idiot when he had to ask Charlie what the name of the ship he’d been living on for the last two months was, but it was better than being in the dark for the rest of his life.) The headed north, towards Gehenna and the islands both Queen Abaddon and King Michael claimed were rightfully theirs.

It was three days before Gavin spotted another ship over the horizon. The pirates again sprung into action, and Dean got a sick feeling in his gut. He wasn’t looking forward to yet another battle, but he said nothing as he helped the powder monkeys ready the cannons for firing if need be.

Luckily, the ship surrendered as soon as the black flag was flown, which lead to a surprisingly boring series of events. Half the crew went aboard the ship, Dean among them, to plunder their stores. They looked to be a merchant ship, returning from Harvelle, if the sweet smelling liquor was anything to go by. Dean wasn’t paying that much attention to the things he was handing off to other pirates, however, as he was too keyed up. The crew of the merchant ship, only about ten men strong, were bug-eyed and twitchy. He kept his hand close to his waist when he wasn’t passing crates and barrels to the man behind him, ready to pull his pistol or his blade given the first sight of danger. Castiel however, seemed to have everything under control. He was standing between the pirates and the merchants. He had the tip of his sword pressed into the pad of his index finger, twisting the blade and playing with the way the sunlight reflected off it. He was seemingly bored and impassive during the whole ordeal, almost daring someone, anyone, to do something stupid. It was like watching a storm gather, one that could let loose at any moment, flooding streets and drowning entire villages.

The sight did something to Dean, stirring something low in his gut. It wasn’t fear, but it was a little similar. It caused his heart to beat just a little faster, his stomach to churn, and his palms to sweat. It was… unsettling, to say the least.

When the pirates had finished relieving the merchants of their wares, Castiel demanded the captain’s boots before they left the ship.

~~~~

The next week at sea was maddeningly boring. He started playing cards with Meg on his off time, which was fun except Dean knew she was cheating. He wasn’t going to call her on it because he was sure that if he did she would challenge him to a duel and he really didn’t want to get shot over cards.

“You suck at this,” Meg said after she won for the third time that day.

Dean shrugged. “What can I say, I don’t do this a whole lot.”

“Right. I keep forgetting you used to spend your days locked in a tower.”

“Shut it.”

Meg scoffed. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Dean rolled his eyes, snatching a new card off the top of the deck. Another ace. He barely contained an eye roll as he discarded a six.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Why are you like this?” He asked.

“Like what?”

“So… thorny. I’ve never met a woman so hard to get along with.”

“Awh, Deany, I’m touched,” she rolled picked up another card, dropping a two down on the crate with a smirk on her face, “but that’s just because you’ve spent your whole life with princesses just itching to kiss your ass.”

“I did not have princesses kissing my ass.”

“Princes then.”

“Seriously, why are you like this? Charlie isn’t this mean.”

“First, Charlie is nice to everyone. Second, you’re just too much fun to not get riled up. You get pouty. It’s cute.”

“I’m not cute!”

Meg chuckled, her eyebrows raised as she crossed the arm she held her cards in across her chest. “Oh, right, you’re a big strong pirate now. Not that skinny, pathetic, soft-handed royal baby that you were a month ago.”

“Fuck off.”

“Did I touch a nerve?”

Dean opened his mouth to say something he probably would have regretted, when a deep voice came from behind him, causing him to jump and dump his hand of cards for Meg to see. “Dean, I need you to come with me.”

Dean jumped again when he turned around, finding Castiel hovering in his space. He wanted to make a comment about personal space, but he thought better of it.

“Yes, sir.”

He stood, glancing back at Meg who was smirking, her nose wrinkled in amusement. Dean stuck his tongue out at her, and she rolled her eyes. Dean followed Castiel back to his quarters, which were dark and cold until Castiel lit a lamp.

“What did you need me for, sir?” Dean asked.

“Balthazar has brought it to my attention that you may not know as much about sailing as the other pirates do, and suggested that I make an effort to educate you on some of the technical aspects of the ship.”

“So you decided to wait until an hour before the sunsets to tutor me on how to sail a ship?” Dean snarked.

Castiel shook his head, turning away from Dean and opened the sheer curtains that covered the wall of windows behind his desk. “We’ll start with what’s easiest. And that can only be done at night.”

“Seems a little counterintuitive,” Dean said, coming up next to Castiel.

“It’s not if you need to see the stars to be able to tell where you are and you’re going.”

They were quiet for a while as they both waited for the sun to set. It seemed to be the longest sunset of Dean’s life, but that was probably because he was actually waiting for it to end. Castiel seemed content in the moment, staring at the water as glistened, swallowing the sun. Dean hadn’t watched all that many sunsets in his life. He never really understood what the big deal was, they weren’t all the impressive but now, well, he supposed there was something to be said about sunsets on the sea. The sky and sea glowed a soft orange and thought the air in the cabin and the air outside had a distinct bite to it, Dean couldn’t help but feel a little warmer.

It didn’t help that Castiel seemed a little looser in the moment. He was still a firm mass of a man, standing tall and resolute in the low light, but there was something soft about him, something almost gentle.

“What?” Castiel asked, his features hardening suddenly.

“What?” Dean asked dumbly. He backed away suddenly, realizing that he had moved into Castiel’s space, close enough that a slight twitch of his hand would have brushed their fingers together.

Castiel didn't said anything as his eyes swept across Dean’s face. He turned back towards the setting sun, slight furrow in his brow as he stared out at the water. Dean made sure to keep his distance this time, watching the sun and waiting for the flush in his cheeks to dissipate.

As the sun vanished into the water, Castiel pointed at the first start blinking into the night. “Do you see that?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, that’s the North Star.”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s your starting point. If you head towards it, you’re on your way to the north. If you know the angle from the North Star and the horizon you’ll know your latitude. If you need to find south, it’s the star in the middle of the Herald constellation. It’s the fuzzy star in the middle.”

“Herald?”

“The Herald,” Castiel nodded, “the people of Winchester name their stars, correct?”

“Well yeah, but I’ve never heard of that one,” Dean said.

“It’s still too bright to see, but it’s a cluster of stars off in that direction,” he pointed off in the direction of his door, “it’s sort of hourglass shaped.”

“Three stars in a line in the middle?” Dean asked.

“That’s the one.”

Dean snorted. “That’s the Hunter, not the Herald.”

Castiel furrowed his brow, his nose crinkled as he frowned. “That makes no sense. He’s holding a horn. It’s obviously a herald.”

“I was always told it was a bow.”

Castiel scoffed. “It looks like a horn to me,” he said.

Dean shook his head. “It’s a bow because he needs it to hunt the Cat.”

Castiel turned to face Dean, tipping his head to the side. “What cat?”

“That one,” Dean said, pointing to the North Star again, “see, that’s its long tail and that’s its body. It’s a mountain cat.”

“That’s the Little Bear,” Castiel said.

“What? Now that doesn’t make any sense. What bear has a long tail? It’s a mountain cat.”

“The bear has a long tail because it was thrown into the sky by the great Prince Michael who saved his people from slaughter by hurling it into the stars and locking it there.”

“Wait, what? How does a person throw a bear into the sky?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “It’s just a story, Dean. Where I’m from the star groups have stories. No one actually believes them, they’re just metaphors I suppose. The Little Bear is stuck in the stars as a reminder of what a good leader should be, the Herald was a good man who warned his village of an oncoming invasion, only to die of exhaustion once he finished gathering all the village’s men. He’s was put there by the One Most High, as a way to remind us of the duty to look out for our fellow man.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense I guess. The bear thing is till dumb, though.”

“What are the stories of your stars then?” Castiel asked.

“They don’t really have stories,” Dean said, staring out into the darkening night, “they’re just… about us, I guess. They don’t have stories, there’s a hunter because it’s what most of the people in the villages did back when the kingdom was you. There are animals because they were either food or dangers. And there are other things like there’s a fire, and a village, and a crown.”

Castiel nodded. “Interesting. I would have suspected there would be a reason for them.”

“There aren’t specific people mentioned, but I think it’s just a reminder of who we are. When my father,” Dean coughed, his throat feeling dry and scratchy, “when we used to hunt in the woods he would tell me that no matter where I was, who I was with, all I had to do was to look up at the stars and know who I was. Where I belong.” His voice wavered and ended on a whisper. He hadn’t thought too much about those stars or their stories but now…. maybe his father had a feeling. It wasn’t uncommon for men and women in Winchester had the ability to know things before they happened. Maybe his father knew.

Castiel’s hand came down on Dean’s shoulder, shaking him just a little. Dean jumped back a bit, and Castiel withdrew his hand.

“What are you thinking, Dean?” He asked.

“Nothing.”

Castiel hummed. “You’re not very good at that.”

“What?”

“Lying.”

“I’m not…”

“You know, you’re probably the most conflicted man I’ve ever had on this ship. You’re strong, and stubborn as hell, but not unreasonable. You’re capable and clever but you don’t show off. And, you seem happy until you start thinking.”

Dean said nothing, drawing his eyes to the floor. He didn’t want to look out at the night anymore and he didn’t think he could look Castiel in the eyes.

“Whatever it is that is holding you back,” Castiel said, “is probably best left in your old life.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dean said, “you chose this.”

“You can leave anytime,” Castiel said.

“Fine, but what am I supposed to do if I did, Castiel? I can’t exactly go home.”

“And why not? Would it be so far of a stretch to tell your people that you were kidnapped by pirates? That you were held against your will until you fought your way off the ship? That you stowed away on another ship with a fake name and came home to your people to fulfil your duty as their king? I doubt that would be hard for them to believe.”

Dean said nothing, so Castiel continued, “But you don’t want to go home. You don’t want to be king and I can understand that. But what I can’t understand is how you are determined to make yourself miserable with the thoughts of things you don’t want or need.”

“Then what do I do?” His voice cracked and he turned his head to look Castiel in the eyes. His sharp blue eyes almost glowed in the low light of the moon and just for an instant Dean lost the ability to breathe. Castiel was looking at him like he was something precious, something in need of protection and comfort, and it made Dean want to pull away and move closer at the same time.

“What do you want to do?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean groaned.

“I mean right now. In this moment, what do you want to do?”

Dean bit his lip and shook his head.

“Dean, it’s alright. Tell me and I’ll listen.”

“I just,” Dean swung his arms open but said nothing, shaking his head. He yelped when Castiel pulled him close to his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Dean let his chin drop to Castiel’s shoulder and drew in several shaky breaths. He allowed himself to cling tightly to Castiel’s shirt, trying to purge the fear and scattered thoughts from his body on every exhale. Castiel was rubbing small circles against his back and his sighed into it.

When the two of them pulled away, Castiel reached up to cup his face, brushing his thumb against the high ridge of his cheek and swiping through a wet streak. He shrugged Castiel off and dipped his head when he realized that meant he’d been crying.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Dean, we’re pirates, not inhuman.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean lifted his head, making a vague hand wave at the door.

“What happens in here can stay in here, if you’d like.”

Dean nodded, worrying his bottom lip. “I really don’t want to go back out there, now,” he said with a breathy, humourless laugh.

“Then don’t. Stay here if you’d like. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Are you sure?”

Castiel nodded. “Why don’t you get some sleep, Dean?” He gestured towards the bed in the corner with a half-smile.

“Where would you sleep?”

Castiel shrugged. “It’s big enough for two people.”

“I, um, I don’t want to encroach.”

“It’s fine, Dean. Just get some sleep.”

Dean didn’t bother arguing any further. Instead, he crawled under the sheets of Castiel’s bed, taking the side furthest away from the windows and allowed himself to fall asleep. He didn’t dream, and he didn’t wake until the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you notice grammar or spelling errors please let me know. My personal computer is currently out of commission so I've been doing a lot of writing on my phone and other computers. As a result, I haven't been able to catch the stuff I usually do.  
> Also! We're officially about half-way done! (Probably? Maybe? Hopefully?) So, buckle-up friends because we've got some exciting stuff coming down the pipe.  
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated and I'm over [yonder](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you wanna chit-chat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thar be lots o' violence in this chapter. Yee have been warned. Arg.

Dean awoke to the soft snoring and a warm arm wrapped around his waist. He rolled over and got a face full of Castiel. He surged backwards, startled and found himself rolling off the bed and on to the floor.

“What the Hell?” Castiel grumbled, shooting out of bed and on his feet before Dean could get to his feet.

“It’s fine, it was just me,” Dean said, raising himself to his feet. “I just fell.”

Castiel frowned, running his fingers through his messy locks. “Why’d you do that?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Castiel groaned and flopped back down into his bed, spreading out on his stomach like a starfish. “Is the sun up yet?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Do you want me to check?”

Castiel mumbled something that may have been a yes, so Dean walked over to the window and pulled up the silk drapes. The sky horizon had turned a soft pink, and the sky had started to lighten, most of the stars having blinked out.

“It’s dawn,” Dean said.

Castiel groaned and rolled over on his back. “Alright. I suppose you’ll want to get breakfast. If I need you later I’ll find you,” he said.

It took Dean a moment to find his boots, which he hadn’t remembered slipping off before he crawled under the sheets, by Castiel’s bed. He slipped them back on and headed out of the captain’s quarters, and back down to the dining area, grabbed his morning rations, and sat at the usual set of chairs Charlie and he sat at.

Charlie came in after he had already stuff half his biscuit into his mouth, chasing it with ale. She was beaming as she plopped down in front of him.

“So,” she folded her arms in front of her, leaning over the table, “I noticed you weren’t in the bunks last night.”

“Very observant of you,” Dean said.

“So, you and the captain, eh?”

“Me and the captain what?”

“You know,” she waggled her eyebrows, “ _you_ and _the captain_.”

“What! No! Are you insinuating what I think you’re insinuating?”

“It doesn’t take that much to figure out, Dean. You were in his quarters all night last night,” Charlie said, digging into her food.

“So? Nothing happened. He was just telling me about navigation. Nothing weird happened.” Dean stuffed the rest of his biscuit into his mouth, hopeful that it would end the conversation. Charlie, however, seemed interested in continuing.

“Are you sure? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

“What do you mean the way we look at each other?” Dean asked, spewing half-chewed biscuit pieces across the table.

Charlie leant back brushing a stray crumb off her sleeve. “Don’t even attempt to tell me that you don’t know what I’m talking about. The long lingering looks? The staring? The stolen glances when you think the other isn’t looking? You like him.”

“Well yeah, Charlie, of course, I like him. He’s a nice guy. A little odd and intense and a little scary sometimes but he’ fine,” Dean said.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. You think he’s attractive and you want to bed him. And I think he feels the same,” Charlie said, pushing a strand of her fiery hair out of her face.

“Okay, look,” Dean said, “he’s attractive, I’ll give you that, but anyone with eyes can see that. And, if I were interested in bedding men I might consider it, but I’m not so it’s not a problem and there’s nothing funny between us. Got it?”

“You know no one is going to believe you, right?” Charlie said.

“That’s fine. They don’t have to believe me, but the captain will set them straight. I’m sure he doesn’t want his men saying those kinds of things about him behind his back anyway.”

“What kinds of things?” Charlie asked. She sat up straighter, her features growing sharper.

“You know, that he… and other men,” Dean gave a vague hand wave as if it would make the words he didn’t want to say materialize in the air for Charlie’s understanding.

“And the problem with that is?” Charlie asked, her eyebrows hidden under the long bangs.

“The crew might get the wrong idea. They might think of him differently.”

Charlie hummed, nodding her head slowly. “Whoever told you that being with men would make a man’s crew see him differently?”

“It wasn’t a pirate crew specifically, but my grandfather told me that no one would respect a leader if they knew he wanted to be with men instead of women. He said it was unnatural and couldn’t produce children so it was a sign of a greedy and lustful king.”

“Do you believe that, Dean?” Charlie asked.

Dean took a long gulp from his mug. He nodded. “That’s why that train of thought needs to stop. Castiel is a good captain and a nice, albeit intimidating man. I don’t want the crew to think any less of him.”

“And if the crew didn’t think any less of him?”

“It’s still false.”

Charlie didn’t say any more about it for the rest of their breakfast, which Dean was grateful for.

~~~~~

Unfortunately for Dean, Charlie wasn’t the only person interested in what he’d done the night before. He’d barely set a foot out on the main deck before Gavin was rushing up to his side, a wide smile plastered across his face.

“So, you weren’t in your bunk last night,” he said, elbowing Dean in the ribs.

“No, I wasn’t. But, nothing happened.”

“Oh, I’m sure, nothing at all, right?” He waggled his eyebrows, “That’s why you were in the captain’s bed last night, right?”

“That’s none of your business. And nothing happened.”

Gavin threw his arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, you don’t have to lie to me, dear boy. Sow your wild oats. Do what you will and who you will, it all makes no difference to me.”

“We’re practically the same age, Gavin. And I didn’t…”

“Like I said,” Gavin slapped him on the back, “it’s alright.”

Dean rolled his eyes as Gavin sauntered off, flashing a devious wink over his shoulder. Meg was the next person to give him hell about it, asking for details about who did what. Dean blushed furiously and told her to fuck off, scampering away to see if Charlie needed anything from him. Benny and Ash joined in, giving him congratulations before they dropped it. Dean kept glancing over his shoulder for the rest of the day, feeling the eyes of his crew mates on his back. He heard whispers here and there, but for the most part the rest of the pirates seemed to remain quiet. The quiet continued on after lights out, when Dean tossed and turned in his bunk, trying to wrap his mind around what had and hadn’t occurred.

It was a bit unsettling to Dean if he were being honest. It wasn’t that he had any issue with men or women who enjoyed the company of other men or women, he’d known several people within his own kingdom felt that way, including the son of the stable master, Aaron. And, there had been a few times in Dean’s own life that he’d been a bit curious about what it would be like to feel the press of another man’s skin on his own. He’d thought about what it might be like to lean in for a kiss and find a strong jaw and sharp whiskers rather than smooth lines against his lips like he assumed everyone does from time to time. But, there were things that were acceptable for a king to be and do, and a man who enjoyed men in the same way as women, or instead of, was not one of them. According to his grandfather, Samuel, several kingdoms in the past had fallen because their kings refused to produce heirs and preferred to spend time laying with men, leaving their without proper leaders and weak militarily. His father didn’t have much to say on the subject, deciding there were more worthwhile things to discuss with his son, like how to properly block and dodge a sword swing in battle.

The pirates, however, didn’t seem fazed by the idea that their captain would be with a man in such a way. Perhaps, like so many things, the rules of the sea were different. Castiel had no problem rallying his crew, nor did he seem to have any issue scaring the piss out of the crews of ships he took over. If they believed he enjoyed being with men, perhaps it was one of those things that were different between a king and a pirate captain, one of those things that didn’t matter. Unless of course, the entire crew was just hazing Dean. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all. Maybe he should ask someone what Castiel’s preferences were. Then at least he would know whether or not the crew were trying to encourage him or if they were trying to haze him. That would at least clear up some of the confusion he had about the whole situation.

~~~~

It was three more days before Dean worked up the courage to say anything to anyone about the torrent of thoughts that had been swimming through his own head. He had been trailing around behind Balthazar at the time, listening to him mutter snark under his breath when the idea occurred to him. If anyone one the ship would know, other than Castiel himself, it would be Balthazar. They were in the cafeteria at the time, alone save for the cook and few swabbies who were busy mopping or sweeping.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “I mean an actual question, not a conversation starter.”

“If you feel you must,” Balthazar said.

“Is Castiel, uh, does he have a preference for…”

“Good God, boy spit it out.”

“Does he like men?” Dean asked.

Balthazar stopped short, leaving Dean to crash into him from behind. He threw a harsh glance over his shoulder, the creases around his eyes deepening. “Pardon?”

“I uh, I was curious if he was interested in men. Instead of women. Or in addition to?” Dean couldn’t let his eyes fall on Balthazar’s face, but he could feel the harsh, unbelieving stare like a physical force.

“Are you serious?” He scoffed. “Have you not… Oh my, God, you haven’t. I can’t believe… My pathetic little cousin. I practically gift wrap the opportunity. Twice! Glory most high!” He pinched his brow, squeezing his eyes shut before blowing out a single, stiff breath.

“My cousin, Cassie, is a little shy. I know he doesn’t look it, being a devastatingly handsome pirate and all, but he’s not exactly the best when it comes to communication. And you,” he gestured to Dean with his free hand, “are the densest young man I have ever come in contact with.”

“Hey!”

“Shut it, I’m not finished,” Balthazar rolled his eyes, turning so that he was facing Dean head on, “You, my dear boy, need to get your head out of your pert little arse and speak to Castiel about this.”

“What? No. I can’t do that. That’s why I came to ask you!”

“And why exactly, can’t you?”

“Because,” Dean’s voice squeaked as he flailed his arms out, “it’s not right. I can’t bring that kind of thing up to him. What if he gets the wrong idea?”

“And the wrong idea would be?”

Dean shuffled on his feet, his eyes darting in every direction but in front of him. “I… He might think I was after something.”

Balthazar’s eyebrows shot up, his body stiffening. “Oh. Oh, I see. My apologies. I thought you were interested.”

Dean stammered, scratching the back of his neck, “Well, I, I don’t know.”

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, just staring at each other, Balthazar with his arms crossed over his chest. “Dean,” he finally said with a sigh, “you need to talk to Castiel. But, you need to figure yourself out first. I have my suspicions about what is going on and I suspect that you do as well, but I am not here to talk to you about it. Figure it out in whatever way you need to, but I swear on all that I am, if you hurt Castiel, I will destroy you.”

And with that, Balthazar turned again and walked off, ending the conversation and leaving Dean to follow.

~~~~

The next three weeks were relatively uneventful. They raided four more ships, all surrendering without much effort. They docked in a small, nameless islet for a day to heave down the ship before heading off again to the west. Dean did have to borrow new clothes from Benny for a week, as his own shirt ripped at the arm seems. Those were a bit too big, but it was settled when they raided their third ship and all the men were ordered to surrender their spare clothes. The new blouses Dean got from those men were shorter in the sleeves and a rougher fabric, but they fit better than Benny’s billowy shirts.

Dean did not speak with Castiel. Well, he did, but not about his attraction. Instead, they spoke about the stories they were told growing up and about their childhoods. Castiel had apparently been the kind of child who enjoyed getting lost and making his mother worry. He was also quite funny, and his humor grew on Dean the more time they spent together. But Dean couldn’t find the words to bring up the topic of his attraction. He was slowly coming to terms with the vague notion that he was interested in being with a man in a sexual way. The man was attractive, after all, and if there were no rules or taboos against it at sea, well, he might as well explore it. If he didn’t like it, he could decide never to do it again. The problem, of course, was that he was particularly interested in Castiel. For one, Castiel was the captain, and screwing up a relationship with him, even if they were only supposed to relate to each other as captain and cabin boy, would be awkward. For two, Castiel was older, probably more experienced, and might expect things from Dean that he had no idea how to give, and that wasn’t just sexually. All of his life, Dean had known that there would be a princess waiting for him when he was ready to marry, and arranged marriages didn’t exactly leave room for worry about the actual relationship. It was supposed to work so it did. It didn’t matter if the king and queen ended up hating each other, their job was to have a few children and pretend for the nation that they at least got along. The kind of thing he could have with Castiel, one in which they came together on their own and could choose to make it work, and that was more than a little frightening.

Dean tried not to think too much about could be. There was no point in getting too worked up about possibilities if he hadn’t even spoken to the man yet, so he resigned his imaginings to late in the night, long after the rest of the crew had fallen asleep. He had allowed himself to mull over the possibility of being with Castiel in the same way he’d been with women, but the technicals always stopped him short of allowing himself to follow through with it. How would two men lie with each other…in that way? With a woman, it was easy to figure out who was doing what but when there were two men…well, Dean was completely unsure as to how that would work out. Would Castiel prefer to take a more…traditional….position or would he have Dean do it? What if Dean preferred to be in the traditional position? What if he wanted to do other things? Dean might actually prefer other things, at least at first.

It was stressful, and as the weeks went on it left Dean feeling more frustrated than anything else. It bubbled up in his veins, just under the surface of his skin like a riptide, waiting to pull him down and drown him in his own angst and doubt.

It had been three weeks and a day since Dean’s conversation with Balthazar and already it was shaping up to be a terrible day. The morning was unusually hot and muggy, and Dean’s clothes clung to his skin, heavy with humidity. Charlie was in an unusually foul mood and barely ate her breakfast. She looked a little pale, and Dean hoped that whatever she had was nothing serious. She sent him off to Balthazar while she snuck down to seek something to ease her stomach. Balthazar was his usual, pain in the ass self, snarking and rolling his eyes at Dean every so often. Three more men got sick aboard the ship, heaving their breakfasts over the side of the ship. Dean himself found that his stomach was a little tender, and he prayed that it was just the weather.

The sun was high in the sky when they spotted a ship. It was a decent sized brig, just barely visible against the horizon. Castiel came out, ordering the crew to their positions and they sailed towards it, flying a black flag. The powder monkies manned their canons and every crew member waited on edge for the moment that they would spring into action and take the ship. But the mood was off. There was something lingering in the air that turned Dean’s stomach, and he wasn’t sure it was the heat or whatever virus might be going around. Something was off.

The ship’s captain dropped anchor and allowed the pirates to board without issue. Dean was among the men that boarded, scrambling down into the belly of the ship to retrieve whatever loot they could from inside. He had been standing close to the rails, one of the last men to handle the loot before it went back onto _The Prince James_. Castiel stood, watchful as always, hand on his gun as the crew of the ship sat kneeling before him. Then something shifted. Dean wasn’t completely sure what caught his attention, perhaps it was the way the brig’s captain, a short, balding man, shifted on his heels. Or maybe it was the slight glint of sun off the gun’s barrel. Or maybe it was the fact that for one split second, he and Castiel locked eyes. Either way, Dean knew what was coming before it happened, and he dropped whatever crate was in his hands in an instant.

“Cas!”

There was a bang, the twang of gunpowder in the air, and then all out chaos.

The pirates dropped what they had been carrying and their hands flew to the pistols and blades at their hips. The merchant crew either rose to their feet with weapons drawn or lay flat on their bellies. There was screaming and the clatter of weapons around him, but Dean paid no attention to it. He vaulted over at least two men laying on their bellies, dashing to the other side of the ship to get to Castiel.

“Cas?”

Castiel was on his knees, arms wrapped around himself, clutching his pistol. The captain of the merchant ship was already dead on the deck, and few merchant crew members around him were either slain or fighting with other pirates.

“Cas, oh my God are, you alright?”

Castiel leant into Dean the second he was at his side, groaning and looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Peachy,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He pulled his hand away from his side, and it was covered in warm, red blood.

“Oh, god.” A sob escaped Dean’s lips as he pulled Castiel closer, and Castiel threw his arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Okay. Come on, let’s get you the hell off this damn thing.”

Dean wasn’t sure how the hell he managed to get Castiel across the ship and back to _The Prince James_ without getting caught in gunfire, but he did it. Few men were actually aboard the ship on when Dean made it back, and even Balthazar was absent, now leading the charge of the battle in Castiel’s absence. The few that were offered to escort Castiel to the doctor themselves, but Dean pushed all of them off. Together they hobbled down to the infirmary, Castiel moaning against Dean’s side. He found himself babbling nonsense, shushing Castiel and promising him everything would be alright, all while praying that what he was saying would be true.

The medic, a gruff older man named Rufus, hoisted Castiel up on to one of the gurneys and shoved Dean back out the door without another word. It was then when Dean truly began to panic. There was still a battle raging on the other ship, likely with more casualties and people who needed attending to. They could use his help out there, but Dean didn’t care. He couldn’t physically move from the door of the infirmary, not until he was shoved out of the way by Meg who was carrying another pirate in her arms.

His head was spinning. He was going to be sick. Castiel had been shot and he might die. If the wound wasn’t enough to kill him, the infection that might follow could. There was a reason pirates who’d been shot or stabbed in their legs or arms had to have them amputated, and a stomach wasn’t something that could be amputated. What would happen if Castiel died? He didn’t even get the chance to say anything about how he had been feeling and Castiel was going to die. Goddammit! No. No, Castiel was not going to die. He was too strong for that. He would pull through. It was a gunshot, sure, but other people had survived those before, right? It was a survivable injury. Right? And if anyone could survive an injury like that it would be Castiel. Dean made up his mind; Castiel was going to pull through. And, when he pulled through, Dean was going to quit being such a child and he was going to talk about how he felt. They could figure it out from there, but when Castiel got better, Dean was going to tell him that he found him attractive, and maybe they could explore it together. And maybe they would kiss. Yes, once Castiel pulled through, everything was going to be good.

By the time Dean made it back up to the main deck the battle was over. The merchant ship was burning off in the distance, and Balthazar had lined the surviving crew up on the deck, their arms tied behind their backs and their heads bowed. He was pacing in front of them, blade drawn at his side. His eyes met Dean’s when Dean stepped out into the sunshine, silently asking for some kind of news. Dean cast his eyes down to the wood grain, and Balthazar stilled.

“Alright,” he said, his voice absent any kind of inflexion or mirth, “you’re going to tell me, one by one, if there is anything you have to offer this crew. If you are unsuccessful in convincing me you are worth a spot here, you die. The more time of mine you waste, the slower your death will be. Make it worth it. Or don’t. I’ll enjoy cutting you down either way.”

The first man stammered his way through something Dean didn’t pay attention for a whole minute before Balthazar put a blade in him. He gurgled as he hit the deck.

The second man begged for his life. His head hit the deck first.

The third man screamed that he was a cooper. Balthazar considered for a moment, before stepping aside and moving on to the fourth. The third man wept openly for the rest of the ordeal.

When Balthazar had made it to the sixth and final man, having spared only one, Dean turned to leave. He wasn’t in the mood to see more bloodshed. He had his hand on the door to the lower decks when he heard his name.

“Prince Dean!” A soft, familiar voice called out. “I know Prince Dean. And I have news, from Winchester. Please, don’t kill me. Please don’t let them kill me, Dean.”

Dean turned, and Balthazar moved to the side so Dean could see the trembling man that who called out to him. There, shaking and crying, was Garth.

“Garth? How in the hell?”

“Dean! Please, your highness, don’t let them kill me!”

Balthazar frowned, clutching the blade in his hand. “You know this man?”

“Aye,” Dean said.

“I have news. It’s about your father. And brother. Please!”

Dean must’ve hit the deck at that point. He must’ve fainted. Because he awoke what felt like seconds later in the infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me, okay! I promise things will be okay. Maybe not now, but they'll be okay...eventually.   
> If you want to come yell at me, I'm on [tumblr](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

Dean dreamt of his mother. It was a dream he had had a thousand times before. It was the one where he sat in a large field, the sun beating down on his neck while Sam, who was no more than seven, ran through the tree line of the nearby forest, a dog barking at his heels. His mother sat next to him, her long, golden hair pulled over one shoulder. Birds swooped and chirped overhead. Everything was right with the world. That was until the sky overhead darkened, and the birds stopped singing. The dog stopped barking, and Sam disappeared behind the tree line. Dean rose to his feet, calling out for Sam as a stiff wind picked up, rustling the tall grass at his feet.

“Sam!” He called out again, rushing towards the trees, but no matter how hard he ran, there were always too far to reach and his feet were too heavy to carry him quickly. His heart pounded in his chest, and feel to his knees.

“Sam!” He called out again, but there was no answer. He turned around, to find his mother still sitting in the grass.

“Mom, we need to go find Sam.”

She said nothing but smiled up at him.

“Mom! We need to find Sam!”

“There’s a storm coming,” his mother said, still staring him in the eyes, a soft smile on her face.

“Mom!”

“You need to be ready for it.”

Dean awoke with a start, jerking upwards in his bed. He was panting and sweating, flailing about before he had any understanding of where he was.

“Woah, woah, easy there, boy,” a rich voice boomed from beside him, and a hand came down on his shoulder, forcing him back down onto the gurney.

“What?”

“You’re alright, kid. Passed out upon the main deck, but you’ll be alright. As long as you didn’t scramble your brain, that is,” the man said. It was Rufus, the ship’s only doctor. He coached Dean through a few deep breaths, easing him back into the world around him.

Dean’s head throbbed and his heart was still thundering in his veins, but he came back to himself quickly. A quick glance around told he that he was in the infirmary, laying on a gurney near against the wall. There were several other people stretched out on other gurneys, some with sheets covering their bodies.

“Is Cas okay?” Dean asked, glancing down at the sheet-covered body in the gurney next to him.

“The captain?” Rufus asked.

“Yes, the captain.”

Rufus took a step back, scratching the sparse scruff on his chin. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “

Dean sat up straighter, his stomach churning. “How bad is it?”

“Look, kid, I’m not gonna blow smoke up your ass. It’s not good. His liver took a couple of dings and the powder burns are a bitch. Far as I can tell his guts aren’t a mess so there’s that. Infection is always a risk. We’ll wait and see but if I did my job right and that fancy salve we got works as well as I know it can he’ll pull through. It’s hurt like a bitch and he’ll be laid up for a while but he’s got a damn solid chance. No guarantees but I’ve seen men survive through worse.”

Dean let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Does the Quartermaster know?”

“Does the Quartermaster know? Kid, do you really think I could have him down here for even half an hour without the persnickety bastard asking about my progress. Of course, he knows.”

Dean scoffed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Damn right I am. Now, you’re fine, so I’d suggest you get your ass back up to the main deck before Balthazar starts pestering me about you, too.” Rufus said, hauling Dean up by the wrist.

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” he groaned, swatting Rufus off.

Dean made his way back up to the main deck, where things had settled down since he’d passed out. The bodies of the men Balthazar had slain had already been thrown overboard and the swabbies were mopping the blood out of the woodgrain. Everyone else seemed to continue business as usual, though they were mostly silent.

One of the things Dean had come to enjoy about life aboard a pirate ship was the sheer amount of life that went on. The castle he’d grown up in was busy, certainly, but for the most part, the halls were quiet and conversations were held in hushed tones. Pirate ships, however, were loud and lively. Crew members swore and laughed at each other from across the ship, and dozens of conversations went on all at once. And frequently someone, usually Benny or Gavin, would start singing and the rest of the crew would be dragged in. Pirates, Dean had learned, had surprisingly beautiful voices and their sea songs were often more soothing than anything else. Usually, the decks were particularly joyous after a ship was captured. This time, however, no one seemed to be in the mood.

Dean was at the door of the captain’s quarters without thinking about it. He didn’t need to knock before the door swung open, Balthazar standing in the doorway.

“I see you’re up and walking again,” Balthazar said.

Dean nodded but said nothing. Balthazar rolled his eyes.

“Get in here, then. You have someone who wants to speak with you,” he said, waving Dean inside.

Dean stepped inside the quarters, to find Garth sitting in front of the captain’s desk, fiddling with the hem of his blouse.

“Your Highness!” He shouted, leaping out of the chair and rushing to wrap his arms around Dean, pinning his arms to his body and squeezing him hard.

“It’s good to see you too, Garth,” Dean huffed out. Garth had always been a small man, but he made up for his lack of height and girth with immense strength.

He trembled around Dean, soft little sobs falling from his lips. “I thought you were dead. I was sure you were dead,” he said, pulling himself closer to Dean’s chest.

“If you don’t stop squeezing me, I might be,” Dean gasped.

Garth released him and taking a step back but still sticking close. “Sorry,” he said, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“It’s alright,” Dean said. “I didn’t expect to see you here either, honestly. Why are you even out here anyway?”

“It’s a bit of a long story. And you’re probably going to want to take a seat. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

Balthazar led Dean and Garth back to the desk, pulling the captain’s chair out from behind the desk for Dean to use. Garth took the chair he’d been sitting in when Dean entered the room, and Balthazar sat on the corner of the desk.

“I’m not quite sure where to begin,” Garth said, leaning back into the chair.

“Why don’t you start with what happened after you made it back to the shore of Winchester?” Balthazar asked.

“Okay. Well, when I got back in I ran back to the castle. King John was still on his hunt so I ran to tell Lord Samuel. He… he wasn’t willing to pay the ransom. He said that it wasn’t in kingdom policy to negotiate with pirates, nor was it appropriate to finance scoundrels. So he wouldn’t pay. He said he’d send out a navy ship but I told him they’d kill you if he sent the navy, so he didn’t do anything. I asked him what he was going to do and…” Garth took a deep breath, “he told me he was going to make sure this wasn’t going to be an issue. He told me I had a choice, keep my mouth shut and flee the kingdom, or be executed for high treason for drowning the crown prince at sea. So I ran. I ran, and I’m sorry.” Garth sniffled loud, causing Balthazar to sneer.

“It’s okay, Garth. You did what you had to do. And you tried, it’s alright,” Dean said, leaning over and patting Garth’s shoulder. Garth nodded, keeping his eyes low to the floor.

“You said you had news about my father? And Sam?”

Garth sighed. “King John has passed. While I was hiding out in the Belle Kingdom I heard the news. He never made it back from his hunt. There was a landslide and he didn’t make it. I’m sorry.” He looked up at Dean with wet eyes, and Dean could only nod and shallow down the knot that formed in his throat.

“And Sam?”

“Prince Samuel is probably back in the kingdom by now. I suspect, with you presumed dead and your father passed that Sam will be the next in line for the throne. Most likely he’ll be coroneted after his birthday in May,” Garth said.

Dean hadn’t thought about that. All the times he’d thought about his brother and his family he’d never once considered the fact that with his absence Sam would eventually have to take his place as king. But something awful struck him in the gut; if his grandfather was okay with leaving Dean to pirates and presumable his own death, what could he do to Sam?

Dean nodded, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. “Thank you, Garth.”

“Garth, why don’t you meet up with Gavin? He’s the scrawny kid with the bad haircut. He’ll show you around and tell you where to sleep,” Balthazar said, rising to his feet.

Garth glanced over at Dean, who gave him a curt nod. Balthazar did not speak until Garth had excused himself from the cabin.

“I suppose when Castiel wakes he’s going to want to know what we just found out. Do you want to be the one to tell him or should I?”

“I can do it. It’s my business anyway,” Dean said.

“You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Just…do me a favour, Dean? We both know what’s going through your head right now or, what will be in the next few hours. Make sure you’re resolute in your decision when you speak with Castiel. Don’t cause any undue burden.”

“Aye, sir,” Dean said, rising and looking Balthazar in the eye. If he didn’t know any better, he might say there was something soft, almost like pity, in his eyes. “Am I dismissed?”

Balthazar gestured towards the door and Dean took his leave.

It took until the next morning for Castiel to be lucid enough to speak to, but even still Dean wasn’t ready to worry about it. Balthazar’s words rung in his mind the whole night while he’d been attempting to sleep. The course of action was obvious to Dean. He would have to head back to Winchester and take his rightful place on the throne. He could figure out how to deal with his grandfather when he got there, if he had to, he’d find something to banish him for. He’d make up some story about having escaped the pirates and he’d marry Sarah and become king. Sam would go back to the monastery and live his life surrounded by all the knowledge he could hope for. It was the best option, really. He’d had his fun escaping responsibility for a time but it was time for everything to go back to the way it should be. He could pretend that none of this had ever happened. Or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself. The deep ache in his chest seemed to have other ideas, however.

It took another week for Castiel to be up on his feet again. He wasn’t as agile as he had been before, but he was walking and talking and that was the important thing. Thank the gods for poorly packed pistols, bad aim, and whatever salve Rufus had. Dean smiled in spite of himself the first time he caught sight of the captain inspecting the rigging with Charlie. He spent the rest of the morning building his resolve and ignoring the ache in his stomach.

“Captain, may I have a word with you?” Dean asked, catching Castiel just as he was ducking into his cabin.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said with a small smile, ushering him inside first and following behind a little too close. “What’s on your mind?”

Castiel took his seat behind the captain’s desk, pouring two glasses of whisky. Dean sat across from him, keeping his eyes decidedly away from Castiel’s.

“You seem troubled,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded, taking the whisky and running his finger around the rim of the glass. “One of the men on the last ship we captured was mine. I mean, he was from my kingdom.”

“Oh. Dean, I apologize…”

“No, he’s alive. Very much alive.”

Castiel grunted in approval and slammed back his drink.

“But, there is a problem,” Dean said, “it was Garth, the man you sent back to tell my father to pay a ransom. He says my father has passed.”

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice was stern enough to force Dean’s eyes upwards. Castiel reached his hand out and laid it on top of Dean’s. “I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugged. He should’ve brushed Castiel’s hand off, but he just didn’t have the heart to do so. “It’s…thank you,” he sighed, “but he had a few other things to tell me. My brother, Sam, was off at the far ends of our kingdom studying ancient texts and that kind of thing. But, with my father’s passing and my presumed death, he’s next in line for the throne.”

Castiel, squinted at Dean, his lips drawn tight as Dean continued.

“He’s only seventeen. Well, eighteen in May. And he has no one else. And he might be in danger. My grandfather…he was fine with leaving me to die to pirates. I have no idea what he might do to Sam.

Castiel nodded. He retracted his hand and poured himself another glass of whisky. He knocked it back and set the glass back down on the desk. “I understand, Dean,” he said.

“It’s just that, I can’t stay here if he could be in trouble. He’s my little brother and I have to protect him. I…wait, what?”

“I understand, Dean. If this is important to you and it’s what you want, I will take the ship back to Winchester and you can go home. Take care of your family.”

Dean blinked at Castiel. “You’re sure? I…If I do this I’ll be taking my throne back. I have no other choice.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I, uh, thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nodded, raising from his seat and gesturing for Dean to do the same. “I’ll have us change direction and head towards Winchester tonight. It might take us a few weeks, but we should get you there in time to take your brother’s place.” Cas’s voice was firm and even, almost a little too even. It was something Dean had noticed Castiel did when speaking about things that upset him, like his father or his home. It made Dean’s insides twist.

Dean stood quickly, thumping his knee against the desk. They said nothing to each other as the exited the cabin, Castiel heading up to the navigation deck while Dean walked back down to the bunks.

Castiel was true to his word about changing course and it only took half a day for the rest of the crew to catch on to what was happening. Balthazar was short with him, or shorter with him than usual. Gavin didn’t seem to know what to say and he barely spoke to Castiel. Charlie was the only one who really tried to make an effort to seem like everything was normal, but even then he could see the look in her eyes and know that she was upset. Dean tried his best to ignore it all, but for the first time aboard the ship he truly felt like he never belonged.

~~~~

The familiar shores of Winchester came into view just as the sun was dropping into the ocean on the fifteenth day after they changed course. The white sands of the shore and the distant line of mountains that once served as a comfort to Dean left him feeling ill. He was going home, technically, but it felt wrong. It wasn’t supposed to feel like he’d swallowed a lead ball and yet it did.

Castiel ordered the ship to drop anchor in one of the many coves not too far from the shore, just out of sight from any other ships that would pass in the night. The crew, save for Balthazar, bid him farewell in a variety of ways, most of them following Benny’s example and slapping on the back, but Charlie pulled him close and kissed his forehead, while Meg squeezed him around the middle and slapped his ass before telling his she’d miss his princess ass. A few of the crew members he wasn’t close to, like Marv and Andy just sort of nodded in his direction. Finally, there were only Castiel and Balthazar to say goodbye to.

Castiel stood in front of him, hands balled into tight fists at his sides, standing as tall and resolute as the first time they’d laid eyes on each other.

“Good luck with your kingdom,” Castiel said.

“Thanks.”

“We’ll try not to target too many of your ships over the next few years.”

Dean snorted a laugh, and the corners of Castiel’s mouth curled upwards.

“Thank you, Cas, for everything. I mean it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said, the softness dropping from his face in an instant. “I wish circumstances were different.”

“Me, too,” Dean said, the sharp pang of regret like a dagger in his chest. “Maybe I’ll see you around one of these days.” His voice cracked, and he barely resisted cringing.

“I very much doubt that,” Castiel said.

“Well, here's hoping,” Dean said. He stuck his hand out for a handshake, which Cas took hesitantly. Dean said nothing, not trusting his tongue to say anything that wouldn’t give him away or embarrass both of them.

Cas gave him a soft, uneasy smile as he withdrew his hand, turning and heading back to his quarters.

“Well, let’s get you on the ship and back to shore,” Balthazar said, walking off towards the side of the ship.

The two of them ducked into one of the small boats that hung off the ship and together they lowered it into the water. Balthazar rowed. Neither of them said anything. Dean kept his eyes where The Prince James was docked, even after the cove and the darkness stole it from his sight. When the bottom of the boat hit the sand, Dean thanked Balthazar before turned away and stepping into the shin-deep water.

“Dean,” Balthazar called as Dean began to trudge towards the shore. He turned, to find the man frowning at him, the soft glow of the lantern he’d brought with him making the sharp lines of his face dark with shadow.

“Be careful with yourself,” he said, no edge to his tone.

“Thank you.”

Dean didn’t look back.

The beach wasn’t all that far from the castle where Dean used to live. It was an odd thing, as most of the inland kingdoms had their kings and queens living closer to the center of their kingdoms, but this was where the Winchester line had established themselves ages ago and no one had any prerogative to change it. Maybe Dean would when he became king.

The castle was guarded as it always was in peace times, with a few guards on horseback patrolling the grounds and a few more near the official entrances. Dean didn’t think too much about his approach as he made his way to the stables, going the same route he always had when he’d stuck back into the castle after dark. The stables weren’t usually guarded, as most of the horses were more than willing to whinny and whine if someone unfamiliar approached. Behind the stables, was the stable master’s home and then just beyond that one of the external walls of the castle that had just enough loose stones for Dean to climb. The stone wall was part of the defenses of the castle where things could be hurled or dumped at intruders from up high, and at the far corner, a staircase that lead down into the open courtyard. From the courtyard, there were a few more ways to get into the castle, one of which was a thin growth of vines that lead up to the tower bedchamber he had slept in his whole life. He was fairly certain that everyone was aware of the vine growth, but no one bothered to trim it.

Dean scaled the tower and hefted himself up through the window, landing with a soft thud against the furs that covered the stone floor. The room was dark and just the same as he left it, save for the lump in his bed.

Dean crept towards his bed, his heavy boots thumping against the floor as he went. The lump in his bed shifted, and he held his breath, absently reaching for the blade that was no longer at his waist. He had just set his hand on the mattress when the blankets flew towards his face, and the person who’d been sleeping under them sprang upwards.

“Sammy?” Dean gasped.

Sam’s eyes flew open, and he stopped for a moment before drawing in a sharp breath and screaming. Dean lunged forward, cover Sam’s mouth with his hand and flattening him to the mattress.

“Shhh. Shhh, Sam! It’s me! It’s Dean.” He half-whispered, half-yelled in Sam’s ear.

Sam fought him, wiggling and trying to pry Dean’s hand off his mouth. He shouted something but it was muffled.

“I swear, it’s me okay,” Dean said, rising up and looking down at his little brother. He smiled, and even in the darkness he could see Sam’s eyes widen a little more, his eyebrows shooting up.

A muffled, “Dean?” came from Sam’s mouth, and Dean nodded.

“If I remove my hand do you promise not to scream?”

Sam nodded furiously, and Dean pulled his hand away, pulled away and dragging his brother up to a seated position on the bed. Sam scrambled to the side of the bed, striking a match and lighting the lamp that sat at his bedside table. A warm light blossomed in the room, giving them just enough light to see each other. Sam was much taller than Dean had remembered, a head taller than him even while the two of them were sitting.

“Dean? Is it really you?” Sam asked, awe making his voice soft.

“Yeah, it’s really me.”

“But you’re so…” Sam gestured to Dean with one hand, “I don’t know, big. Have you been working in a stable? And you’ve getting a beard! You look like a pirate,” Sam’s eyes bulged out of his head, his next words spoken in a harsh whisper, “were you a pirate?”

Dean chuckled, but it didn’t have an ounce of humor in it. “I was aboard a pirate ship, yes.”

Sam reeled back, brushing his long hair behind his ears. “No! How did you survive? Did they torture you? How did you get out alive?”

Dean shook his head. “It’s not like that. The pirates I was with…they weren’t that bad. They were actually pretty nice, believe it or not.” A twinge of guilt twisted his stomach and Dean couldn’t keep Sam’s eye. “The captain was actually a really great guy. Most of the pirates were. They’re just people…who steal for a living.”

“And kill people.”

“Only when they have to.” Dean sat up straight, and he could feel the scowl on his face. Sam pulled back a little more, his eyebrows shooting up on his forehead.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn’t…never mind. But that’s not important right now,” He took a deep breath, steeling himself, “Sam, you’ve in danger.”

“Why?” Sam squeaked. “Is it the pirates?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Could you drop the pirate thing for a minute, please? It’s not pirates, it's Samuel.”

“Grandpa?”

“Yes. He…okay, I was kidnapped and the pirates asked for a ransom. They sent Garth but Grandpa Samuel refused to pay it and banished Garth. He usurped the throne, Sam. And he was fine with letting me die. If he’s okay with me dying than he might be planning something for you. You could be in danger.”

Sam stayed quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling visibly harder. “I…You’re serious?”

“Why would I joke about this?”

Sam licked his lips. “But I’m supposed to marry Sarah and become king after my birthday.”

Dean shrugged. “So was I.”

Sam fidgeted, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them close. He looked so small, despite being much taller than Dean. “What do we do, Dean?”

What should they do? Dean hadn’t really thought much past getting to Sam and making sure he was okay. He supposed he could charge into wherever Samuel was and confront him, but that might not be the best option. Especially not in the middle of the night. Maybe it would work better in the morning.

“I’ll confront Samuel in the morning. I can find and inn to sleep in tonight and come in in the morning. Tell him and the rest of the court I survived and escaped. I’ll get married to Sarah if he father still allows it, and take the throne and then we can figure out where to banish Samuel to.”

“Oh. Right. That’s…that could work,” Sam said, ducking his head and tucking his chin into his knees.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Nothing. It’s a good plan,” Sam said, head still ducked.

“No. Something is on your mind. Tell me.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s just…I get it. I do. The whole plan makes sense. It’s just…Sarah. I was…gods this sounds awful, but I like Sarah. A lot. She was the kindest to be when I came here and found out you were dead or presumed dead. At first, I thought it was because I’d lost my brother and she lost her fiancé, but then it became…I feel things, Dean.”

“Oh.”

“I understand. Her father wants her to marry and be a queen, and if it’s not us Prince Tran is coming of age this year. It’s probably what’s best for the most people, but it sucks, you know?” Sam shrugged, finally bringing his gaze up towards Dean. His eyes were wet and glistening with unshed tears.

“Yes,” Dean said, his voice rougher than he had expected, “I do.”

Sam frowned. “Who was she?”

“Who was who?”

“The woman you left behind.”

“Sam…” Dean sighed.

“Dean.”

Dean huffed. “Cas. But that’s…it’s not important right now. What’s important is that you’re safe and we get this back and track. We’ll work something out.”

Sam gave a half smile and nodded. “Okay.”

Dean blew out an uneven breath and just sat in silence for a few moments. Gradually, Sam shifted to his side and they pulled each other into a strong embrace, Dean tucking his head into Sam’s shoulder. They were both shaking, with fear or relief or nerves Dean didn’t know. He suspected it was likely a combination of all of them.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy,” he said.

Sam nodded against him. “I know, Dean.”

Dean and Sam stayed wrapped together for a long time until the nerves started to wear off and Sam’s breathing evened out and Dean’s eyelids grew heavy. They pulled away and said their goodbyes before Dean slipped back out the window, easing his way back down the wall slowly.

Dean wasn’t paying attention. If he were, maybe he would have been a little more careful of where he started walking when after his boots hit the ground. He should have checked to see where the moon was in the sky so he could gauge the time. If he had, he might’ve know that it was the changing of the guards, which was organized by incoming guards coming in the opposite direction that the retreating guards left. He didn’t remember until he heard a voice from behind him.

“Halt, intruder!”

Dean froze, blowing out a deep breath as he raised his hands in the air, displaying his lack of weapons.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” The voice demanded.

Dean turned slowly. “It’s me, Dean, Prince of Winchester,” he said.

“The prince is dead. Murdered at sea,” the guard said. He was standing only about ten feet away from Dean, pistol pointed right at Dean’s face.

“I’m not,” he said, “I’m alive. Look at me. Take me inside, I can prove it to you. Prince Sam will tell you the truth.”

The guard, a man Dean seemed to remember was named Gordon licked his lips, lowering his pistol. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll take you inside.”

He edged towards Dean and Dean moved forward, dropping his hands. Gordon got within arm’s reach and Dean caught a right hook on the jaw. Dean hit the dirt, barely able to catch himself with his hand before they were kicked out from under him and wrenched behind his back. His groans were muffled by the dirt when Gordon stepped on his back, trying his hands together with a thick cord before jerking him upward and dragging him along.

Dean was more than a little dizzy, unable to resist as he was pulled into the castle on wobbly feet. Dean called out for Sam as the entered one of the long hallways and was rewarded with another knock to his head that he could have sworn reverberated off the stone walls. He briefly hoped that Gordon would take him to Sam, or maybe Samuel, or that maybe Bobby or someone else would pass by and recognize him and maybe do something.

Dean's hopes evaporated as he was lead down the stairs into the dungeons and tossed into a cell on his face, his hands still tied behind his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Cas didn't die and Sam's here. That's good, right? 
> 
> If you wanna come chit-chat, I'm on [the tumblrs](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

Dean stayed up all night, sitting in the corner of the dungeon cell with his hands tied behind his back, trying to fathom how the hell he got here. He was sitting in the darkest, dirtiest corner of the place he’d grown up, feeling about a million miles away from home. It wasn’t just the fact that he was in the dungeon, either. He had been a pirate for about four months and even though it was never something he had ever considered for himself, it hadn’t been all that bad. Sure it was a little smelly and dirty and pirates didn’t seem to know how to chew with their mouths closed and, of course, there was the risk of dying, but it wasn’t bad. He’d made friends who didn’t look up to him or answer his every beck and call for the first time in his life.

Perhaps he should hate Castiel and his band of pirates, after all, it was their fault he was in the situation he was in. Okay, granted, his plan, or lack thereof, of just walking in and out of the castle wasn’t the smartest thing in the world, but he wouldn’t have had to if he hadn’t been gone all this time. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t find it in himself to actually hate Castiel or the other pirates. He hadn’t asked to be kidnapped in the first place, nor had he asked to become a pirate, but in a strange way, it had been the best thing that had never happened to him. He had been a little freer out on the ocean, opening himself up to new opportunities and new possibilities he might have been able to explore. He had considered getting involved with Cas, a man and pirate, and that had never been possible before. Still, he had been willing to give it all up for Sam, and he still was. Maybe if this had happened months ago he might have wanted some kind of revenge, but now? More than anything he just wanted all of this to be over.

Dean’s hands were completely numb and there were painful tingles shooting up his arms by the time the jailers finally made their rounds. Gordon, the man who had knocked him on his ass the night before, was there with another man who Dean did not recognize.

“Morning, sunshine,” Gordon said, dangling a set of keys off his finger, “looks like the King wants to see you.”

Dean wavered, rising off his knees and standing. He stood straight, chin tipped up and chest puffed out like his father taught him. The lock clicked and the dungeon door swung open, the guard who wasn’t Gordon pulling him out of the cell and shoving him forward. Dean sneered as he stumbled ahead. The guards walked behind him as the let him up the stone steps and back into the castle courtyard. It was difficult to keep his balance with his hands tied behind his back and the jailers nudging him forward. He fell once they reached the top of the stairs, hissing as his knees hit the ground. The guards jerked him by his elbows, popping his shoulder and shoving him forward. He groaned but kept walking.

The throne room was the heart of the castle. It was where citizens were allowed to ask for favors and have their issues redressed, and it was where foreign dignitaries met with the King first. The room was furnished in the dark, hardwood that grew in the vast forests of the kingdom, and the floor was made of the polished white rock that littered the Northern shore. Giant brass chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each lit by no less than two dozen candles. The wall opposite of the entry was where the thrones sat. Identical tapestries hung on the wall on either side of the two thrones, the Winchester crest emblazoned in gold thread on the deep red fabric. The crest changed with every marriage, depending on which kingdom the bride came from. The lion that sat in the middle, however, was unchanged and had been since the Winchesters claimed dominion over the land. The larger throne on to the right was made of polished brass and wood was where Samuel now sat. The smaller throne on the left, where Dean had sat with his father for nearly every court meeting since after his mother passed was empty.

Dean was held to a stop and forced to his knees about ten feet away from his grandfather. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, as they took each other in. Samuel was dressed in John’s robes, which were more than a little snug around his middle and too short at his legs, the calves and lower of his tights showing for the whole world to see. He leaned in the throne, bracing one elbow against the armrest. The top of his hairless head shone in the soft candle light. At least he wasn’t wearing the crown.

“What is your name, prisoner?” Samuel asked.

“I am Dean, Prince of Winchester,” Dean said.

Samuel’s eyebrows raised minutely as he leaned forward on the throne. “That’s not possible. Dean has passed.”

“I haven’t,” Dean said. “I am, very much alive.”

Samuel frowned. “My grandson is dead. He was kidnapped by pirates and murdered. We found his bloody robes on the shore two nights after he went missing.”

“I was taken by pirates,” Dean said, “but they showed me mercy. And when I had the chance I escaped. I’m here now, to regain my place as prince and heir.”

“Last night you were apprehended sneaking around the castle grounds. What was your plan? To murder me in my sleep and then claim to be the lost prince? To murder Prince Samuel as well? Why wouldn’t you, if you were, in fact, Dean, come into the throne room on your own and make your presence known to the court, rather than sneak around under cover of darkness?”

“What? I would never…”

“You, pirate, are an imposter. A dangerous villain sent to murder the King!”

“I…no! I have no weapons. I came here unarmed!”

“Who paid you?”

“I wasn’t paid.”

“Which kingdom sends you? Who has declared war on this kingdom by attempting to assassinate it’s King?”

Dean wobbled, attempting to stand. The guards were on him, shoving his shoulders down. He cried out as their hands pressed into the same aching shoulder he’d popped earlier. “Get off of me!”

Dean struggled against the guards, holding him down. If he could stand on his feet maybe Samuel would be able to see his face better and see who he really was. Maybe then he’d give a little pause. Or maybe…

“Call Prince Sam,” Dean said. “Bring him down here and ask him for yourself what I was doing. He’ll tell you the truth. I was trying to see him last night, that’s all.” One of the guards struck him in the back of the head.

“Kubrick,” Samuel said, “go attend to Prince Sam. Call the healer and make sure he is uninjured. This villain has attempted to poison him, to doubt.”

“I wouldn’t!” Dean was struck again as the guard he didn’t recognize walked past him to the right and disappeared down one of the halls. Dean’s eyes started to water.

Samuel sat up straight, as Dean gazed up at him through watery vision. “Please,” Dean said, “just call Sammy. He knows it’s me. Or call Bobby. Or anyone. It’s me. I can prove it.”

Samuel laughed. It was a harsh, ugly thing, like a sneer and a giggle rolled into one. “Please. You will only attempt to trick them through their grief. Prince Dean is dead. You will prove nothing, pirate.”

“Please. Grandpa Samuel, please.”

“Enough!” Samuel snapped. “I’ve heard enough. I gave you the mercy to kneeling before me in an attempt to clear your conscience and admit that you have attempted to murder me and my grandson. You, however, are intent on trying to trick me and to drag the rest of my kingdom into your tricks. I will not stand for it. I hereby sentence you to hang by the neck until you are dead for the attempted assassination of the Crown and for the crime of piracy.”

“No! You can’t do that! I have the right to a trial! I demand a trial! You can’t just kill me!” Dean surged forward on his knees. Gordon wrenched his shoulder back once again.

“Only citizens are entitled to a trial, pirate. You do not deserve one,” Samuel said.

“You can’t!”

“Gordon, take the prisoner away. He’s to be executed tomorrow at dawn. Let the people know they’re in for a hanging.”

And then, all too fast, Dean was whisked away and thrown back into the darkness of his dungeon cell.

~~~~

Eventually, Dean’s hands were freed. Samuel had decided that he was in fact, allowed to have a last meal and he’d need his hands to attempt to eat it. He finally got feeling back into his hands and wrists after rubbing the red marks on his skin and shaking them. The blood flow had mostly returned to normal, and his skin wasn’t that terrible shade of dark red it had been. He didn’t eat the gruel and toast he was provided, though. He wasn’t feeling up to it. The priestess, Missouri, came in to talk to him after the jailers took his food away. She didn’t say all that much, just burnt herbs as offerings to the gods and asked for his soul’s safe passage to The Otherworld. There was something in her eyes that made Dean think he wanted to say something else, but the jailers stood way too close to the two of them and she kept her mouth shut.

Dean fell in and out of sleep for a while, trying and failing not to think too much about what lay ahead. He’d really screwed it up this time. He should have just stayed on the pirate ship. Or he should have just barged in and killed Samuel in the middle of the night, the revealed who he really was. Maybe he should have gotten a change of clothes and a shave before he tried to meet with Sam. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There were about a thousand things Dean could have done that might’ve made this whole thing turn out better, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it now. He was going to die. Sammy was going to be left with Samuel, and the gods only know what was going to happen to him. Maybe Samuel would let him live and train him to be a good king. He always did like Sam better anyway.

Dean only wept once, and it was enough to put him to sleep for the rest of the night.

~~~~

Dean was awoken by the clicking of the cell lock. He startled, jumping to his feet only to find Gordon standing in front of him, his expression flat and unimpressed. He ordered Dean to turn around, then bound his hands behind his back. He was pushed forward and he walked with his head held high and his chest puffed out. Dean was then led back up into the castle courtyard and then into a plain carriage. The sky was still dark and tinged a dark gray by the cloud cover. A slight breeze picked up, chilling the air.

His heart sank to his stomach when he saw the scaffolding sitting in the village square. It had always been there, at least for as long as Dean could remember, but there were very few occasions that it had actually been used. Most of the time I was just there as a reminder of what awaited those who committed the worst kinds of crimes. People usually walked past it like it wasn’t important. Sometimes children even ran under the platform, playing games with no real concept of what the structure was used for. Now, though, there was a small crowd of people standing around, bundled up in their winter clothes from the chill of the morning. A few babies fussed and whined in the crowd. It was strange, Dean realized, that all his life he’d been told he was important to these people. These people, and thousands more within the other villages of the kingdom celebrated his birth. These people held parades for his betrothal. The probably mourned when they thought he died. Now, less than a hundred showed up to actually watch him die.

The royal carriage stopped by the scaffolding first. Samuel climbed out to the sound of trumpets and the people in the crowd bowed their heads. He smiled and waved at them, climbing the stairs to the scaffolding. Sam was nowhere in sight.

Dean’s father had once thought that Samuel was jealous of his kingdom. There was once a time when Samuel had his own kingdom, but it was now a thing of the past. He’d had three daughters, Gwen, Ellen, and Mary, but no sons. His daughters, however, took up the duties that princes often had and became skilled warriors in their own rights. The three sisters were sought after by many young princes, and Samuel tried to arrange their marriages with the best strategic advantage to himself. Gwen, the oldest daughter, inherited the kingdom. Ellen was married to William of Harvelle and Mary had been promised to the young prince Charles of Angles. Mary, however, was strong willed and defiant, and broke her betrothal, forging her father’s handwriting and called off the marriage to Charles so that she could marry John of Winchester. Samuel was furious and sought to destroy John with his army, but he was defeated, and his oldest daughter Gwen, died in battle. John married Mary, and as she was next in line for inheriting the Campbell kingdom, she brought it with her into the marriage. The two kingdoms became one, ruled under both John and Mary until Mary died and then John became the sole inheritor of the land. The kingdom would then go to Dean and then whatever children he had and on and on until the end of time. John had let Samuel live in order to spare Mary’s feelings. He’d believed that a short leash was key to keeping Samuel under control, and thus far it had worked. Granted, he hadn’t had the chance to take power like he had at since Dean was kidnapped.

Dean was pulled out of the carriage and lead up the scaffolding. The wood creaked and whined beneath his feet. He did his best to keep his breathing even by taking in long, deep lung-fulls of air. Samuel stood at the front of the scaffolding while Dean was guided to his spot in the center of the trapdoor. After the noose was tightened around his neck (god, he hoped they’d tighten it) they’d pull the lever and he would fall, and he would either break his neck or choke, depending on how tight the rope was around his throat.

Samuel prattled on about his supposed crimes while the crowd hissed and jeered. Dean wasn’t paying attention. He was too focused on the sick feeling sinking into his bones and causing his skin to break out in goosebumps. He wanted to cry and throw up and scream, but he wasn’t going to. Not now. He was going to face death with his head held high. At least he’d gotten to see Sam one last time.

Samuel walked over to his side. “Do you have any last words, pirate?”

Dean gulped and shook his head.

“Are you sure, Dean?” Samuel asked, his lips so close to his ear that only Dean could hear him.

Dean turned his head to find Samuel smirking at him. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, boy. Do I really look at stupid to you?”

Dean clenched his fists behind his back and flared his nostrils. The executioner, who had come up next to him, set a single hand on his shoulder. “I hope you die a slow, painful death,” Dean hissed through his teeth.

“And I, you, boy,” Samuel said, stepping back towards the front of the platform.

Dean was trembling. Of course, Samuel knew, but Dean had held onto the tiny hope that maybe he wasn’t completely aware of who Dean really was. Maybe he was just determined that Dean had died and he wasn’t going to entertain any other explanations. But no, he did know and now he had to rub it in. Fuck! That son of a bitch! If Dean’s hands weren’t tied behind his back, he’d wring that bastard’s neck himself.

The executioner moved closer, looming over him. “For the love of The One Most High, you’d better be able to run with your hands tied behind your back,” the man whispered.

Dean didn’t have a chance to say anything before a cloth bag was slipped over his head, followed by the noose.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Dean squirmed to get out of the firm grasp of the executioner but it was no use. His cries were muffled by the bag and his heart was pounding in his ears. What the fuck was going on?

Samuel said something then the crowd cheered. Then there was the crack of a gunshot and screaming. Dean shrieked was he felt himself fall, the rope around his neck sliding off like a scarf. He hit soft earth. Everything was still black. There was more yelling and screaming, the smell of gunpowder and the thudding of footsteps beside him. The bag was ripped off his head and the executioner, who had jumped down the trap door after Dean, lowered his hood and Dean caught sight of those big blue eyes.

“Cas?” Dean gasped, taking in the pirate in front of him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving you,” he said, before dragging Dean behind him as he sprinted directly into the crowd. The crowd parted around them as Dean struggled to keep his balance and follow behind.

Dean barely had time to take in his surrounds before he was nearly being hauled off his feet by Cas and Balthazar, who came up next to them as they broke from the crowd. There were at least half a dozen pirates standing at the back end of the crowd, all fired at the King’s guard who were unwilling to shoot through the crowd and at them. When they broke from the crowd and the village people scattered, the guards were less willing to hold back, however.

Behind him, Dean could hear the King’s guard shouting and the neighing of nervous horses. Fuck, if they didn’t get to shore soon they’d be overtaken and then they’d all be screwed. Dean didn’t dare voice that out loud, though. He was too busy trying to breathe and move and keep his balance.

There were two carriages with two horses each leading them parked at behind the tavern, which was where the pirates ran to. Dean was shoved into the carriage with Cas following behind. A few more pirates piled in, among them, Marv, the bastard who’d started this whole business. Once the carriage doors were shut the horses were spurred into action and they barreled down the back streets and towards the sea shore.

“How in the hell,” Dean said, panting, “did you know to come get me?”

“You didn’t think we’d really leave you here on your own, did you?” Cas asked.

“Well, I, though…”

“See, that’s what you get for thinking. You’re bloody welcome by the way,” Balthazar said.

There was commotion behind them, as the guards managed to catch up to them on horseback. Cas took the hanging lantern off from where it was hanging on the outside of the carriage and struck a match on his thigh. He lit it before lobbing it out the carriage window. There were a thud and the whinny of horses behind them. Dean couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the horse.

The carriages reached the shore faster than Dean had anticipated, and he was shoved out and into the tide. It was barely light outside now, and the guards who had still managed to stay or horseback were fast approaching. There were two row boats waiting in the water, one manned by Benny, the other by Meg. The two of them shouted for the others to hurry up but running in water, especially when your hands are still tied behind your back, was not an easy thing. Dean was lagging behind, with even Balthazar already climbing into Meg’s boat. He and Cas had been separated as soon as they hit the water, with the pirates trying to get their captain to safety above all else. Marv, who was only a few feet in front of him, turned when Dean shrieked as the guards fired their pistols and the water rippled next to him.

Marv grabbed Dean by the arm, pushing him forward as fast as he could walk himself. The water was freezing and sloshing high around Dean's hips. He was hefted up by the armpits when he finally reached the boat, Meg dragging him into the boat and across her lap. Marv was next, with Balthazar extending a hand to heave him into the boat. Then there was a gunshot, a splash of warmth across Dean’s back, and a thud.

“God fucking dammit!” Meg shouted, rolling Dean off her. He hit the bottom of the boat, scooting up until his back was against the siding. Marv was laying face down in the boat, the back of his head ripped open and blood pouring from his face.

“You fuckers!” Balthazar shouted, standing and rocking the boat, firing off his pistol and felling a horse at the shore.

“Balth, sit your dumbass down if you don’t want to die, too,” Cas hissed, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt. 

He plopped down. “Fine then, fucking, row!”

The guards were not able to follow them in the water. The rowers were fast and cut through the waves like there was no resistance. They made it back to The Prince James, and the pirates who remained on the ship threw down ropes to raise up the row boats. Castiel and Balthazar sprung off the row boats and ran to the helm, direct anchors to be raised and sails to be opened before the boats were completely fastened down.

It wasn’t until the shores of Winchester were a smudge in the distance and Marv’s body had been taken to the lower decks before Dean felt he had the chance to walk up to the helm to finally talk to Castiel.

Castiel was standing at the helm, the early morning light making his skin glow when Dean spoke. “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Cas said with a small smile. There were gray bags under his eyes and his skin was a little too pale.

“Are you alright?” Dean asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Dean shrugged.

“I’m fine, Dean. Not ideal, but fine.”

“What are we going to do about…”

Castiel sighed. “I think Marv deserves a proper burial. He was a jerk and a moron at times, but he was still my cousin.”

“So how are you going to do that? You know, being at sea and all?”

“He deserves a burial in the place where he was born and that’s what I intend to give him. We’re headed home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for taking forever to update! I'm working on a couple of Big Bangs and going to school and all that nonsense, so this baby got kinda pushed back to a later date. It's not abandoned, though. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. 
> 
> If you want to come yell at me, [I'm over here on tumblr!](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update! Eep. I had other bangs to work on so, I figured because you've all been so patient, I'm updating the final two chapters at the same time!  
> So, here is the beginning of the end. (That sounds more ominous than I intended.)

Pirate ships were not meant for carrying dead bodies. To Castiel’s credit, however, he had ordered Marv’s body to be wrapped with spices to keep the smell down. It helped, but it could still be smelled, especially in the lower decks. Thankfully, however, the sea had been favorable as they made their way north. It took them ten days to make it to the shores of Angles, and all ten had been filled with a somber air.

Dean had heard about the people of Angles. They were a strange, relatively isolated people, as was the case for people who lived so far north with so few alliances. They worshiped only one god, like the people of Gehenna, but their god was seen as more hands-off than the god of Gehenna. They were skilled sailors, however, most likely because that was the only way for any of them to make any connections.

It didn’t surprise Dean that Cas was from Angles. He’d figured the man had to be from somewhere far off, but he wasn’t nearly as rough as Meg or Gavin, who he knew were from Gehenna. What did surprise Dean, however, was where exactly Cas was from in Angles.

They pulled into port without incident, and Cas didn’t even bother to look for an islet to hide the ship in. He’d had Dean, Meg, Benny, and Ash carry the crate they’d sealed Marv in on their shoulders, as he and Balthazar made their way into the port city. The streets of this particular city were much nicer than the streets of Winchester, paved with stone instead of dirt and straw. Each of the shops had oil lamps screwed to the side of the buildings, and the people who milled about only spared them a passing glance as they walked through the chilly city. Cas hailed a carriage, whispering to the driver before Balthazar helped them secure Marv’s crate to the roof with thick ropes. Once the six of them were inside, the driver called to the horses, and they started off, towards the forest and the gods knew where else.

No one said anything for a long time, with Cas staring out the window at the large, gangly trees, thick and obstructing views in for more than five feet into the forest. Balthazar cleared his throat, nudging Cas’s knee with his own as the port city vanished in the distance.

Cas turned to look at Dean and the other three pirates scrunched together in the bench seat. “I brought the four of you with me because I trust you,” he said, “however, I ask that none of you speak of anything you see here when we are back aboard the ship.”

Meg shifted uneasily next to Dean, her elbow digging into Dean’s side.

“It’s nothing bad if that’s what you’re thinking,” Cas said, “I would just prefer that this not gets out to too many aboard, for my safety as well as your own.”

Dean glanced over to Benny, who was frowning slightly. “Captain,” Benny said, “why exactly would we be in danger if it’s nothing bad?”

Cas sighed. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Soon enough turned out to be several hours, just as the sun was beginning to dip in the sky. The forest had started to thin out and the terrain grew bumpier, now with large hills, the driver of the carriage had to ease his horses down lest they pick up too much speed. It wasn’t until the massive stone wall loomed over them and blocked out the light that Dean was aware of where they likely were.

“It’s a castle,” Dean said, sticking his head out the window. There were several guards on horseback, their coats a bright silver that shone even in the low light.

“Palace actually,” Castiel said as the carriage stopped. Balthazar stepped out, moving with more fluidity and grace and Dean had ever seen him, walking towards the guards with his head held high and chest puffed out. He said something to them that Dean couldn’t hear, before walking back as the large wooden gate eased open and the carriage was allowed inside. The carriage then made its way up the steep hill upon which the palace sat. A guard on horseback raced ahead, and Dean quickly lost sight of them.

The palace was completely different from what Dean was used to. His home had been largely utilitarian, a stronghold for the royal family that was easily defendable. This palace however, was more ornate, with lustrous, shimmering stone on the outer walls instead of the bland rock Dean had expected. The courtyard was more like an open garden, with a large pond set in the center, where stone figures depicted some type of battle on the water’s surface. The stone steps leading inside were made of white polished stone Dean would have guessed was marble, though he had no way to be sure.

The carriage stopped and the passengers got out, Dean, Benny, Meg, and Ash again taking to carrying the crate on their shoulders. The followed Castiel and Balthazar in silence until they came to the palace doors where they were instructed to strip their weapons by a different guard.

Ornate didn’t seem to come close to the décor of the inside of the palace. Gold, marble, and precious stones lined the walls in intricate patterns of circles and squares and triangles, all overlapping on themselves. Even the high wood ceiling above their heads seemed to be decorated, with blue and gold paint in patterns Dean couldn’t really make out while trying to move. The floor beneath their feet was covered in crushed velvet which had a soft give under Dean’s feet. Every open area that lead somewhere else was decorated with arches.

The throne room was similarly decorated, though the floor here was slick and likely polished stone. It too was decorated with various colors or green and red in more geometric patterns. The thrones sat on the far wall, another white staircase separating it from the floor one which Dean stood. The wall behind the throne was all gold, but whether it was real gold or paint Dean wouldn’t tell. The thrones themselves were white, likely ivory, and sitting atop the center throne was a man, likely only a few years older than Castiel. His hair was the same dark color as Cas’s, though his eyes were dark in his expression serious. The crown on his head could only mean that he was the King.

The guard halted them, standing off to the side. “His Majesty, King Michael the Seventeenth of Angles,” the guard bellowed.

King Michael waved his hand impatiently.

“I present to Your Highness, His Royal Highness, Castiel, Prince of Angles, and His Grace, Balthazar, Duke of Solomon.”

Castiel and Balthazar both hit their knees, bowing their heads before the King gestured for them to stand. They did, and the King gestured the guard who had accompanied them away.

“Castiel,” the King said, “good to see you again.”

“And you, Your Majesty,” Cas said.

Michael rolled his eyes, leaning forward on the throne. “Really, Castiel, you needn’t do that. I’m your brother first, King second.”

“My apologies.”

Michael eyed the crate, which was still resting on the shoulders of Dean and the others. “You have something for me?”

“Nothing good, I am afraid. I bring you the body of His Lordship, Marv, Marquess of Avalon.”

Michael frowned. “That is unfortunate.”

“I request a formal burial,” Cas said.

Michael scoffed. “And I would deny that?”

“It’s formality to ask,” Cas said.

“And since when have you been interested in formalities? Marv will get a proper burial and we will mourn our loss. He had no heirs?”

Balthazar snorted at that, causing Michael to raise an eyebrow. “Very well then. I’ll deal with that later. You’re both staying for the arrangements?”

“We will,” Cas said.

“Very well. I’ll see to it that your crew is escorted back to shore. I’m sure you notified them of the behavior I expect of them?”

“My boatswain has been informed. I have no doubts she will inform them of proper protocol. But…”

“But what?”

“Well, Michael, it’s just that… do we have to send them away?”

Michael frowned. “I don’t see why you need them around. This is a family affair, Castiel.”

“Yes, but,” he gestured towards Dean and the others, “my crew is my family. Not to be disrespectful, but they’ve saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“That’s all well and good, Castiel, but I can’t house your entire crew…”

Dean could have sworn he heard Balthazar mutter, “yes you can.”

“They may attend the burial and the feast if they choose, but I’m not housing all of them.”

“What about the people who are already here?” Cas asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Fine. One can stay here. Everyone else must go back to your ship, at least for the time being.”

“Thank you,” Cas said.

Michael nodded. “You may see them out to the courtyard.” Michael turned to the man on his left and spoke in a low voice so that Dean couldn’t make out what he was saying.

The guard that had been standing at Michael’s right stepped down off the elevated platform and lead the group back out towards the courtyard.

“I’ll send a message to Charlie once I know when the feast and burial will be held,” Cas said to Benny. “I would appreciate it if the crew could be there.”

“Of course, Captain. We will be,” Benny said.

They stepped out into the low light of the courtyard, a few torches the only light. “I hate that they’re sending you out in the dark like this,” Cas said.

“Yeah, well, we’re pirates,” Meg said, “we’ll be fine.”

Cas gave them a weary half-smile. “You better be.”

The carriage they had arrived in was already waiting at the gate, far across the courtyard, and the guard who had escorted them out was starting to get antsy. Benny slapped Cas on the back before heading towards the carriage, followed by Ash, and then Meg who tossled his hair. Dean made a move to leave as well before Cas stopped him.

“You’re sticking around, Dean. I know I should have asked you sooner, but, I would greatly appreciate it if you stayed.”

Dean snorted. “Of course, Cas. I’ll stay here with you if you want.”

“I would like that.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes and Dean shot him a glare. The three of them watched as the carriage exited the courtyard and rolled out into the night. Dean followed Cas and Balthazar as they walked back into the palace and up a marble staircase. The light from the candles, which were placed on tall lamps every few steps, made the marble beneath Dean’s feet shimmer and shine like liquid. Castiel and Balthazar each took an unlit candle at the top of the stairs and lit it with the flame of the last lamp along the staircase. The glow cast from those two candles was the only light as they made their way deeper into the palace.

The carpet at the top of the stairs was probably crushed velvet, though Dean wasn’t paying much attention to that. He was much more interested in the portraits that lined the halls. All of them were of, what Dean presumed, much be Cas’s family. Most of them looked remarkably similar, to the point of uncanny, all with wide eyes, sharp angles to their faces, skin that practically glowed. Their eyes followed Dean as the three of them made their way to the bed chambers, and it left Dean with a sick, cold feeling in his stomach.

Balthazar branched off to the left when they finally made it to the bedchambers, and, with Cas’s reassurance, Cas followed until they stopped in front of a large, wooden door.

“This is yours,” Castiel said. “Or, I’ve decided it’s yours. It’s one of the nicer bedchambers, usually saved for foreign dignitaries, which, I suppose in some respects you are. Mine will be just down that hall over there,” Cas said, pointing off behind his left shoulder.

“Yeah, okay. Thank you, Cas.”

“Of course,”

Cas turned to walk back down the hallway, the soft glow of his candle leaving with him.

“Um, Cas, wait,” Dean called out a little too loudly in the empty hall. His

“Yes?”

“Do you have to leave?”

“My room is –“

“No, I know. I mean, can we, maybe talk? It’s been awhile.”

“You want answers. Yes, I understand.” Cas came back then, his shoulders dropping just a little.

Dean opened the door of the bedchamber and nearly gagged. Nearly everything was gilded and what wasn’t was painted in obnoxious blues and purples.

“Yes, it is a little harsh on the eyes,” Cas said, smirking. He lit the candle at Dean’s bedside with his own, then set down next to the other candle.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but it is… um…”

“Vomit inducing.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

Dean sat down at the head of the bed and Cas took his place towards the middle, tucking one leg up underneath him.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said.

“What do you have to be sorry for, Dean?”

“About Marv. Your cousin.”

“Dean, we knew going in what we were risking. A pirate’s life is always dangerous, Dean, but rarely is a pirate’s death remotely noble.”

Dean sighed, scratching at the back of his head. “Still. I –“

“Don’t, Dean,” Cas said, “you can’t blame yourself for his death. It wasn’t your fault.”

“How’d you know?” Dean asked. “How’d you know where to find me?”

Cas sighed, letting out a soft chuckle. “We, kind of, stayed around. Balthazar got it in his head that I – well, it doesn’t matter, but he wanted us to make sure that you would be alright. And it was a good thing we did. Charlie went ashore and heard that you were to be hanged. From there it was just a matter of blending in with the crowd, ambushing the executioner, and stealing a carriage or two.”

Dean snorted. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Cas smiled. It was a full beautiful, gummy thing, and nothing like the coy little smirks that he was accustomed to. It made Dean smile, too, and he dipped his head to keep Cas from seeing the steady blush that was beginning to burn in his cheeks.

They were quiet for a while, just sitting together in the low light. It was nice, as it always was, but there was something simmering in the air that made Dean a little antsy.

“So, you’re a prince, eh?” Dean said, after a short while.

Cas shrugged a single shoulder. “I was the third son. I wasn’t expected to do much other than marry and become a Lord, but marriage wasn’t for me and after I found out about my father’s bastards I didn’t want to stay around any longer. I stole a ship on my twenty-fifth birthday. Balthazar came with me, of course. Marv uh, he came later. We picked up mercenaries at the first port we came across and took to piracy. It was lucrative and it was mostly targeted at the ships of Angles and her allies. And then, Michael caught us. We were brought back to shore and tried. Michael agreed to let us live if we paid tribute to him every few months and no longer attacked Angles ships. That was three years ago.”

“So you’re a privateer, then,” Dean said.

“Technically I suppose. I don’t do what I do for love of country, I do what I do because it’s easy and I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

“Except for Michael.”

“Not even Michael,” Cas shook his head. “Michael doesn’t know what I do on the sea. I’ve taken from ships I knew were headed to Angles. I have no loyalty to him, nor to this country. I’m loyal to myself and no one else.”

“Cas, what happened? It seems to me like there was more than just finding out about your dad,” Dean said, setting his hand on top of Cas’s. Cas frowned. The low light cast shadows across his face, and for the first time, Dean was aware of just how weary Cas looked, the lines around his eyes and lips already deep from the sun and sea air.

Cas swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I suspect, Dean, that you and I are a lot more alike than we first realized.”

“Meaning?”

“I hated my father, sure, but the idea of marriage, of being trapped in a life with some I didn’t love and could never love was what tipped the scales for me.”

“Oh,” Dean breathed.

“I am a pirate, and I love being a pirate because it affords me the freedom to be the man I’ve always wanted to be and to find love, if possible, with a man like myself.”

“Oh. Have you – do you think you - that you could have that?”  Dean found himself leaning closer into Cas’s space, drawn in unconsciously. He supposed he should be worried about that, but he couldn’t bring himself to be concerned about the way his pulse raced under his skin or way his breath caught in his lungs. He wasn’t concerned about how his lips seemed drier, or about the way his stomach flipped. No, his only concern was the way Cas licked his own lips, and how his eyes skimmed over Dean’s face, almost frantic as if looking for a reason he shouldn’t close the distance between them.

Cas leaned in and so did Dean and in an instant, their lips met. It was… soft, not at all what Dean had been expecting and it tingled in his lips and made him sigh. Cas pulled away first, gulping and staring at Dean like he was waiting for something horrible to happen. Dean exhaled, licking his lips. He could still feel the ghost of Cas’s against his own. He laughed, a soft, doubtful little laugh and Cas frowned at him. Feeling a little bolder, Dean reached over and grasped Cas by the back of the neck, pulling him back in and kissing him once again.

This time Cas was a little more confident. His kisses were gentle but commanding, drawing Dean in. Cas’s hand came up around Dean’s shoulder, then the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in the soft curls at the base of Dean’s skull. Dean shuddered, leaning closer into Cas. They shifted on the bed so that they were both facing each other. They broke away to breathe and Cas left kisses across Dean’s jaw as he made his way to Dean’s neck. Dean rested his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, breathing in the slightly tangy scent of his skin as Cas nibbled at the lobe of his ear.

Dean groaned and shuddered as Cas began to suck at the skin just behind his ear. Cas chuckled, pressing his chest to Dean’s until Dean fell back on the bed with Cas looming over top of him. For the first time that night, Dean felt vulnerable, staring up at the eyes of the man who had once seemed like a threat, like someone who would kill him without a thought. Now, though, Dean was petrified for a whole other reason.

“Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean breathed, “I –“ he gulped, “I’ve never done this before.”

“We don’t have to – “

“No, no, Cas. No, I want to. I just… I’ve never… I’ve never done this with these… feelings. Cas, I –“

Cas silenced him with another kiss, this one powerful and unrelenting.

“Me either,” Cas whispered against Dean’s lips.

Dean shuddered. The two kissed again, long and slow, and occasionally gasping into each other’s skin as their hips rolled together. It felt like it too all night, just the two of them tangled together as the low light of the candle flame cast their shared silhouette against the wall. They peaked one after the other and held each other close as the night faded into the warmth of day.

~~~~

Dean and Cas kept their relations discreet, mostly for Michael’s benefit and the benefit of the rest of the court. Balthazar, however, was able to tell that something had shifted between the two of them. He was insufferable at that point, even in Cas’s opinion, which Dean almost thought was impossible. Dean, Cas, and Balthazar mostly kept to themselves for the three days it took to arrange Marv’s funeral, staying inside in some of the less often used sunrooms or outside wandering the gardens.

The day that Marv’s funeral was held, Dean was forced to leave to round up the rest of the pirates while Cas and Balthazar went through the rituals required for mourning family members. Dean didn’t ask what those were. The day was overcast, the sea murky and the air chilled. The pirates were less than excited to be a part of the funeral, but most of them had the decency to not complain and change into their least grungy clothing.

When Dean and the rest of the pirates made their way, to the field behind the massive stone temple of the port city of Arcadia, the royal family and court were already present in their robes. The minor nobles, like Balthazar, were dressed in shiny silver coats that glimmered in the low sunlight, while the court and higher nobles, like Cas, were in dark blue. Michael and his Queen, a woman who Dean’s hadn’t got the name of yet, were the only ones in white.

The priest prayed over an ornate wooden box while King Michael and his Queen stood in front of it. The rest of the high nobles kneeled behind him. The rest of the attendants were supposed to stand behind the nobles. Dean and the rest of the pirates were in the very back of the crowd. It wasn’t that large of a crowd, not that Dean expected it to be. Marv had been away from his post as his position as Marques for who knows how long, and he likely wasn’t important enough to be mourned by the entire country. That was perfectly fine by Dean as it was. Marv may have died in his rescue but Dean still disliked the man. He should probably have been thankful that Marv decided to kidnap him in the first place, after all, he never would have met Cas if that hadn’t happened. Still, Marv was barely tolerable on a good day. He’d pray for an easy passing to his own gods, on his own time.

The priest ended his prayer with a song, which most of the crowd took part in. It was sung in a language Dean didn’t understand. The other pirates hummed along or kept their mouths shut. After the song, the ornate box was carried into the mausoleum by the nobles and the crowd was dismissed. Only those who were related to Marv and the pirates were allowed to follow Michael’s carriage back to the palace, and even then the pirates were stopped and stripped of their weapons before they were allowed to pass through the stone gate.

The funeral feast was held in the Great Hall, which was gilded within an inch of its life. A single, massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Michael sat at the head of the largest table, in the center of the room with the nobles close to him by rank. The pirates had been allowed in the hall, but they were sat at the farthest end of the table, far enough away that they couldn’t hear what was being said.

“So, Dean,” Gavin said, “been schmoozing with the nobles again, aye? Not thinkin’ of goin’ soft on us again, are you?”

Dean snorted. “No, I’ve been ignored mostly. Prefer it that way.”

“Even by Castiel?” Charlie, who was sitting next to him, asked.

Dean coughed. “No, not Cas. We’ve been mostly to ourselves. Well, Balthazar, too.”

Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. “Oh?”

“Oh, what?” Dean asked, tearing off a chunk of bread and shoving it in his mouth.

“You know what,” she said, smirking.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oooooh,” Meg said, “you and Cas finally did it, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” Dean didn’t look at her. He could feel the heat in his face and he didn’t dare look at her or he’d wind up smiling and then he’d never hear the end of it.

“You fucked him.”

“You can shut up now, Meg.”

“Oh! He fucked you!”

“You can really shut up anytime.”

The pirates broke into ruckus howls and jeers, some of them chucking bread in Dean’s direction.

“You did!” Charlie shrieked, “you two finally did! About damn time! Oh, shit, I owe Balthazar money, now.”

“You put bets on us?”

“Yeah. It was taking long enough. I was half convinced you’d wind up with someone else first. Or leave the ship.”

“Thanks for your confidence, Charlie.”

“Hey, I said I was half convinced. I said it would take six months. Meg was the one who said it would never happen.”

“Hey!”

“In my defense,” Meg said, “you’re both stubborn bastards.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Again, thank you for your confidence.”

“Anytime.” She smirked at him, plopping a chunk of bread into her mouth.

There was a sudden commotion at the other end of the table as King Michael and the Queen rose to their feet, walking swiftly out of the room accompanied by three large guards. The nobles then rose as well, whispering amongst themselves and heading out the door on the opposite end of the room from which Michael departed. Cas and Balthazar pushed past them, making their way to the pirates as they too stood, hesitantly.

“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, reaching Cas before anyone else.

“We don’t know,” Cas said, “I couldn’t hear but the King need us all to head upstairs and pretend we’re not here.”

“Sounds serious,” Benny said.

Cas nodded. “Unfortunately. But we need to leave, right now.”

Cas spun on his heels and marched off, his robes billowing behind him. Balthazar and the other pirates followed suit, while Dean hastened to catch up.

“What’s going on, Cas?” He asked.

Cas shook his head. “I don’t know. But this is highly unusual.”

“Something with the funeral?” Dean asked.

“No, the citizens would know not to bother the royal family in a time of mourning.”

“An invasion?”

“I hope not. For all our sakes.”

Cas and Balthazar lead the pirates up to private rooms inside the palace but didn’t answer any questions. A thick fog of apprehension lay in the air was Dean, Cas, and Balthazar made their way back to Cas’s room in silence.

Balthazar immediately took his place at the large window in Cas’s room, pulling back the curtain just enough so he could stick his head through and look. Dean and Cas took a seat on the bed.

No one spoke, but Balthazar took to pacing across the floor, returning to the window every few loops of the room, only to pull away again with a huff.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” he muttered, throwing the curtain back in place for the fifth time.

“And you’re not going to be able to see a damn thing so you might as well sit down,” Cas said.

Balthazar huffed and batted the air before stilling where he stood. “This isn’t good,” he said.

“Obviously,” Cas huffed.

“What on earth could be going on? We weren’t followed were we?” Balthazar asked.

Cas sat up a little straighter on the bed. “I don’t believe so. If we were they would’ve shown up sooner.”

“Did someone recognize us?”

“I wouldn’t think so. The only person who saw me was the executioner and I made sure he was out cold before I left him. No guarantees on your account.” Cas said.

“Or the ships,” Balthazar said, “but I wouldn’t think anyone would connect the James to Angles. We’ve changed its name more than once.”

“Why are you so sure it’s Winchester?” Dean asked. “There are other countries that take issue with Angles.”

“Yes, perhaps,” Balthazar said, “but the timing is worrisome.”

There was a knock on the door at that point and a small but forceful voice came through the wood. “Your Highness?”

“Yes?” Cas called back.

The door creaked open and a small man in silver peaked inside the door. “The King would like to speak with you. And your… companion, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Alfie,” Cas said, “we can be down in a minute.”

“He wants me to bring you to his private chambers,” Alfie said.

Cas glanced over to Balthazar, who was wringing his hands in front of him. Balthazar gave him a short nod and Cas and Dean rose to their feet, walking out behind Alfie.

“Cas, what-“

“Not now, Dean,” Cas interrupted.

Dean didn’t speak while he followed Cas and Alfie down corridors of polished wood and up another marble staircase.

Michael’s chambers were on the other side of the palace, and both Cas and Dean were swiftly swept inside after Alfie knocked on the door and was dismissed.

The room was much less ornate than Dean had expected, though it still had the same dark wood and gilded molding. The bed was a massive, four posted thing draped with a silk canopy and there was a large bear posed and stuffed in the corner of the room.

“Castiel,” Michael said, standing in front of them, his white robe bunched and wrinkled around the collar, “who is your companion?”

“Dean,” Cas said.

“I gathered. Where is he from?” Michael asked.

“Winchester.”

Michael’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a slow breath. “Did he happen to be slated for execution a few weeks ago?”

Cas gulped. “Unjustly, but yes.”

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing loudly. “That explains why we have half the Winchester navy in our waters, then.”

“What?” Dean gasped. “How? That doesn’t make any sense. How did they even know where to find me?”

“The party that arrived in my throne room this evening wasn’t exactly forthcoming,” Michael said, “but they did demand your surrender by sunset tomorrow.”

“They won’t have him!” Cas snapped.

“Castiel, while I admire the loyalty you have to your crew but I’m not risking a full-scale war over one criminal.”

“Then we’ll leave. We’ll distract them, drag them away from the shore and leave Angles out of it,” Cas said.

“Right. That’s going to work. First of all, their terms were rather absolute. Second, your ship against the fleet they’ve parked on our shores? You won’t survive it.”

“A chance I’m willing to take,” Cas said.

“So you’re not only willing to send my people, our people, to war but also slaughter your entire crew? You’re willing to lose it all over one man?”

Cas shot Dean a quick glance, then gave his brother a curt nod.

Michael shook his head. “I should have you jailed for treason for that.”

“If you attempt to give Dean up to those monsters you’ll have to,” Cas said.

“Cas, you can’t do that,” Dean said, “I’ll go. It’s okay. No one else needs to die on my account.”

“I’ll be damned if you do!” Cas scowled at Dean, balling his fists at his sides. “Michael, please, you can’t do this to him. They’ll kill him.”

“That’s not my problem, Castiel,” Michael said.

“You don’t think it is? Unknowingly or not you’re harboring a fugitive. Who’s to say they won’t decide to go ahead and attack?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “We and the Winchester kingdom have had a mutual nonaggression treaty for decades. King John wouldn’t be stupid enough –“

“King John is dead,” Dean said.

“Well then his sons-“

“Which one? The one you’re harboring or the one that’s barely old enough to rule? Or perhaps the man who usurped the throne will be willing to take your concerns into account.”

“Excuse me, what?” Michael gasped. “You?” He gestured to Dean, “are you telling me that this man is Prince Dean of Winchester?”

Dean gulped. “Um, yes?”

“And you didn’t think this was pertinent information until now?” He was now gaping at Cas, who had decided that the floor was a better place to focus his attention than Michael’s face.

“It wasn’t relevant until now.”

Michael groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “How in the Hell did you wind up with the Prince of Winchester on your ship, Castiel?”

“Well,” Cas took a breath, “it’s a humorous story, really. We were around and Marv scouted a small boat and the next thing I knew we had the Prince on board.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to keep him.”

“We sent a ransom but no one ever came! What was I supposed to do? Sail up to the shore and dump him possibly starting and incident and or getting my entire crew killed? We didn’t have a choice at the time. It wasn’t until we learned that the throne was usurped and Dean’s brother might be in danger that we even bothered going back.”

Michael huffed. “The affairs of Winchester are none of my business.”

“With all due respect,” Cas said, “unfortunately they are now. I understand that you don’t want a needless war, but if you give into Samuel’s demands there is no telling what he’s willing to do. He almost killed his grandson and rightful heir to the throne. You know what kind of kingdom the Campbell’s used to run. They’re unpredictable and they aided the MacLeod’s against us. Now that he has power again there’s no telling what he would want to do. With Dean’s death, you might avoid a conflict for now, but he’s much more useful alive.”

“How so?” Michael asked.

“He’s the rightful heir to the throne. He has the power to wrench control back from Samuel and have him exiled. A friendlier relationship with Winchester would be of great benefit to Angles and much more predictable than whatever relationship you’d have with Samuel.”

Michael pursed his lips, stroking his chin. “They’re poised to attack Arcadia if we don’t surrender Dean.”

“So we take the fight away from Arcadia. We ‘surrender’ Dean and then my crew will follow. A small army can follow that if you wish. If we take the fight to the seas we’ll stand a better chance of losing fewer men.”

“And if you fail?” Michael asked.

“I won’t.”

Michael rubbed his temples. “I need to speak with my admirals. If they think this is a worthwhile endeavor, we will proceed with your plan. But if this fails you will be held accountable.”

“I understand,” Cas said.

“You’d better. Now, leave. I’ll let you know what we’ve planned by morning.”

Cas gave a curt nod and Dean followed him out of the room and back across the palace, towards the room they’d been sharing before. Balthazar had left by the time they back, and hadn’t even bothered to light a candle before leaving. Dean stood there in the dark, pressed against the door as Cas fumbled around for a match.

“You’re serious about this?” Dean asked.

“Of course, Dean.”

“It would be easier if I just surrendered.”

“Easier, perhaps, but I won’t let you die for no reason.” Cas struck the match against the side of the table beside his bed and lit the large wax candle on top of it.

“And if Michael says no?”

“Then I’ll take on the entirety of Winchester myself if I have to.”

Dean shook his head, shutting his eyes, willing the tears that threatened to fall to stay where they were. “You know how this ends, don’t you?”

Cas’s hands were on his waist, guiding him to the bed. Dean opened his eyes, a single tear trailing down his cheek when he saw Cas’s sad smile.

“If I get my way, it ends with you alive.”

“Alive and as king of the kingdom I never wanted.”

“But alive.” Cas sat down on the bed, scooting backward and pulling Dean to meet him on the mattress. Dean went willingly, collapsing into the thick furs under him.

“Alive and unhappy. Alive and without you.”

“You’ll do well.”

Dean shook his head, burrowing his face against Cas’s chest.

“You will,” Cas whispered.

Dean didn’t speak. It would have been better if Samuel would have killed him. No, it would’ve been better if he never went out on the ocean that fateful day. He’d be King now. He’d be unfulfilled and lost, but it would be preferable to feeling like his heart had been ripped from his chest. There must’ve been some force in the universe that was determined to keep him and Cas apart. No matter how Michael decided, there would be no winning. If he died, Samuel would continue to be King and Sam might someday get his shot at ruling, if Samuel didn’t decide to kill him first. The people of his kingdom would be miserable, and untold damage would be done to allies and neutral parties alike. If they were, by some miracle successful, he’d be the king and he’d never see Cas again. Objectively, one option as better than the other, but couldn’t force himself to be objective.

A life spent as a man he didn’t want to be without the man he loved wasn’t much of a life at all. 


	10. Chapter 10

The sand squashed beneath Dean’s feet as he marched towards rowboat waiting in the surf. He wavered as he walked, unable to balance himself with his hands tied behind his back. Three guards had been chosen to accompany him to the ship, but Cas hadn’t been allowed to come. They hadn’t even gotten much of a goodbye that morning, nothing more than a few brief words before Dean was tied and sent away in a carriage while Cas was whisked off in a different direction. Dean wasn’t even sure if he was being sent to his certain death or if there was going to be a rescue attempt.

The guards led him on, guiding him to the men in the rowboat bobbing with the waves. Sitting at the bow was draped in a gold cloak, his bald head reflecting the light. Dean’s heart fell once he realized it was Samuel. The guards lifted him by his elbows and unceremoniously dumped him into the boat.

“That’s him,” Samuel said to the guards, “thank your King for his cooperation.”

Samuel dismissed the guards and waited until the rowers had pulled them out of earshot before he spoke.

“You had a lot of balls for pulling that, boy.”

Dean said nothing, glaring at his grandfather and pulling at his wrists.

“Your brother was quite displeased to find you gone. Imagine doing a thing like that to a good kid like him.”

“What did you do to Sam?”

“Now why would I do anything to Sam?”

“Because you’re a dog-eared bastard.”

Sam reached across the boat and slapped him across the face. “You watch how you speak to your King you like shit.”

Dean glared harder, shifting his jaw to ease the sting across his cheek.

“I haven’t touched Sam. Unlike you, he’s worth something. He’ll be a good ruler someday after I’m dead and gone. We’ll raise him right. Right now, though, he’s reevaluating what he thinks he’s seen. We’ve had an influx of migrants recently who are equipped to deal with all kinds of hallucinations.”

“If you hurt him I swear –“

“You swear what? You’re going to die anyway.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Good luck. My executioner is quite irritated with you. He was looking forward to a hanging, but maybe we can give him the pleasure of a beheading. Maybe on a day when the blacksmith doesn’t have time to properly sharpen an ax.”

Dean drew in a deep breath, blowing it out through his nose, twisting at the bindings around his wrists, again. Why’d they have to be so damn tight?

They’d reached Samuel’s ship shortly after that, with the men aboard the ship throwing ropes down to raise the row boat out of the water. Dean was hauled out as inelegantly as he was tossed in, and he stumbled as he was jerked around by the men on board.

Dean was lead down below, into the belly of the ship and the brig within. He was tossed in the cramped cell with his hands still behind his back and he fell to his knees while the door slammed behind him. Dean rolled to his side to find Samuel staring at him through the metal bars, his face cast in an eerie shadow by the single oil lamp hanging just outside the cell. Dean sneered at him, and Samuel just shook his head.

“Have fun down, here, Dean. If you don’t starve you’ve got yourself a date in a week or so.”

“Screw you,” Dean said.

Samuel scoffed and turned away. He made his way back up the stairs. Once again Dean was alone in the darkness of a ship. He groaned, rolling himself onto his back so he could kneel and pull himself up to standing. He let his head fall against the metal bars in front of him. His nerves were through the roof, bubbling up inside him and making him want to scream. If he knew whether or not Cas was going to attempt to save him, he would know whether or not he should be worried. As it was, down in the darkness, he wouldn’t be able to tell how much time had passed between his boarding and any given moment. It would take the navy of Angels or just Cas, a while to even launch after Samuel and his men got enough of a distance away that their ships wouldn’t seem suspicious, anyway.

Dean groaned. Once again, he was stuck waiting.

“Are you really the Prince Winchester?” A voice asked from the darkness.

Dean jerked his head upwards, squinting into the darkness. “Hello?”

“Yes?” The voice answered back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed a movement in the darkness.

“Well, are you going to come out of the shadows or are you just going to stand there like a mysterious asshole.”

There was a chuckle, then a creak of wood. “If you answer my question.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes. I’m really the Prince. Not like anyone believes it, but it’s true.”

The wood creaked again and a man stepped into the low light. He was about Dean’s height with a sharp jaw and a dark bruise under his right eye. “Prince and pirate. My, my, that is interesting.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “And who the hell are you?”

“The hangman.”

Dean scoffed. “So, what, you’re just down here to torment me too?”

The man leaned into the bars, wrapping his right hand around one and looming into Dean’s space. His eyes flickered over Dean once. “You’ve killed people.”

“Congratulations on your observational skills. Do you want a prize?”

“So rude,” he clicked his tongue. “You ought to me nicer to me. I could help you.”

Dean laughed in his face. “Right. You’re going to help me.”

The hangman shrugged. “If you tell me what I want to hear.”

“Sorry, I’m not much for sweet nothings.”

The hangman raised an eyebrow. “You enjoy this life of piracy? I’d think a life of luxury as a King would be better suited to your hearts desires.”

“What do you even know about me?”

“More than you think.”

“Okay. Sure. Is there a point to this then?”

“Answer my question first.”

Dean outright snorted at that. “Yes, okay. I enjoy piracy.”

“Why?”

“No, I answered your question, now you answer mine.”

“Which one?”

Dean groaned. “For the gods! Would you just… tell me what the hell you want?”

“Ideally, my Queen’s head on a pike, her palace burned to the ground, and every trace of that godforsaken country wiped off the map.”

“Someone has anger issues.”

The hangman snorted inelegantly. “That’s putting it mildly. Now, Dean, your turn. Why piracy as opposed to kingship?”

“It’s freeing. I don’t have to be the man Samuel wants me to be or the man my father thought I was. I can be myself.”

“You want to be a thief and a murderer?”

“It’s not like that –“

“I’m not judging. It’s my profession to kill people and I quite enjoy it.”

“It’s not… I don’t enjoy it. It’s just… necessary sometimes.”

“Who’s more likely to be diplomatic, you or your brother?”

“Sam probably. Why?”

The man’s gaze was heavy on Dean’s skin, surveying him the way a wolf surveys a deer. “The ship’s stopped moving,” he said.

Dean took a moment to assess the room around him. The oil lamp above his head was still and the slight swaying of the ship under his feet had stopped.

The hangman smirked, digging into his pocket and tossing a silver ring of keys at Dean’s feet. “Good luck,” he said.

Dean scrambled to get to his knees as the hangman disappeared swiftly up the stairs.

“Shit,” Dean groaned, realizing that there was no way he was going to be able to get the damn things with his hands tied behind his back.

Dean struggled against his bindings, jerking his elbows violently, desperate to free himself. The bonds began to shift up his wrists and he pulled, trying to jerk his arms apart. It was then when loud footsteps came pounding down the stairs. A tall, slender shape came barreling towards him in the darkness.

“Dean?”

“Sammy?”

Sam stepped into the light. “Gods, Dean is that really you?” His chest was heaving and his eyes were wide like he’d seen a ghost. He’d also cut his hair short since the last time Dean saw him and was wearing clothes much too large for him, in addition to about a months’ worth of facial hair that looked like it had been glued to his face.

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?”

“I thought,” Sam shook his head, “never mind. I need to…” he glanced around the room, “I need to find some way to get you out of there.”

“There are keys on the floor,” Dean said, nodding his head towards them.

“How in the world…?”

Dean shrugged. “Some guy was asking questions and he just threw them on the floor. Doesn’t matter. Why are you here?”

Sam bent down and took the keys, shoving them in the lock. “I stowed away. I had to be sure. I had to know if was really you of it I was just mad.”

Sam unlocked the cell and flung the door open, wrapping Dean in a hug before he even had the chance to stand. Dean tucked his chin into Sam’s shoulder.

“It’s me. Really.”

Sam sighed. “Thank the gods. Now, let’s get you out of here, the ship’s under attack.”

Sam helped Dean to his feet and stood behind him, untying the bonds around Dean’s wrists. Dean hissed, shaking his shoulders and rubbing the red marks on his skin.

“Yeah, okay, but you stay here.”

“No, Dean. That’s not happening.”

“Look, Sam, I’m really glad to see you, but I’m not letting you out there. If the ship’s being invaded it’s not safe for you and I’m not putting you in danger again. Stay down here, lock yourself in the cell and don’t come out until I come get you.”

Sam scoffed. “I can swing a blade, Dean.”

“Congratulations,” Dean said, pushing past Sam and towards the stairs. Sam stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“I’m going up there with you.”

Dean turned and scowled at him. “No, you’re not. I appreciated that you came, I really, really do, but you can’t risk it up there. It’s too dangerous and you have a country to run.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a king if I’m not a soldier. What’s it that dad always used to say? A good king must know how to serve before he can give orders?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sammy, please…”

“I’m not budging.”

Dean huffed and ran his hand through his hair. “Fine. But you stay by my side and if I tell you to run or duck or get out of there you listen.”

Sam nodded, drawing the sword sheathed at his side and drawing dagger for himself. The two of them then sprinted up the stairs to the main deck.

The deck was in utter chaos. Castiel and his pirates had already boarded, it appeared, as most of the sailors were paired off in melee with a pirate. The sound of cannons drew Dean’s attention to the water, where other ships were engaged in battle, though none of those seemed to have been boarded. Shouts and taunts drew Dean’s attention back in front of him. He clutched his blade and turned to Sam.

“Stay close. And take a shot if you can.”

Dean threw himself into the battle, Sam by his side, catching their opponents off guard and coming in close for fatal blows while Dean distracted them with swordplay. The deck below his feet was stained with blood already, and he tried and failed not to get distracted by the bodies around him. The pirates had always been brutal when they needed to be, but Cas always preferred to take a ship without casualties if possible. This time, however, it wasn’t possible. This wasn’t a robbery, this was a battle.

Dean hauled Sam out of the way just in time to stop a wayward cannonball that was heading in their direction. He tried to call out, but it was too late, and Gavin, who’d been fighting off to his right, was hit in the head and knocked into the sea. Dean stumbled, narrowly blocking the sword blow from the sailor in front of him. He kicked the sailor in the gut, and he fell to the deck before Dean ran him through. Lying next to the fallen sailor was the body of Ash, his eyes still staring up at the clear sky.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed. “We need to find Samuel. We need this to end.”

Sam pointed towards the forecastle deck. “There!” He shouted. Up near the helm, Samuel was fighting Cas, the two of them darting and striking at each other, locked in an aggressive flourish of movement.

Dean sprinted towards the helm, Sam on his heels the whole way. Cas caught his eyes as Dean bounded up the final step and that’s when Samuel struck. A single flash of silver, striking downward in the air was all Dean saw before Cas screamed, doubling over and stumbling back. Samuel raised his sword in the air.

The world moved too fast and too slow all at once. Dean was on Samuel before he had a chance to bring the blade down, striking him in the ribs. Samuel turned, slashing at Dean before he had a chance to duck. He felt the blade fall across his skin, but there was no pain. He charged, pushing Samuel backward. Samuel was snarling down at him, and he was sure he was, too. Then Samuel faltered. He threw too much of his weight into a swing and Dean dodged, kicking at Samuel’s feet until he tumbled to the deck. He rolled onto his back but it was too late. Dean kicked his blade from his hand and stood over him before bringing his sword down across Samuel’s neck. He gagged and gasped, blood spurting into the air and onto Dean’s face.

“Dean?” Sam asked. He was standing off to the side, Cas next to him.

“Yeah?”

Dean’s eyes fell to Cas’s side and where his shirt was stained with blood. He rushed over and touching the gash in Cas’s shirt. “You’re hurt.”

Cas nodded. “You are too.”

Dean glanced down at his arm and the slow trickle of blood that was seeping out of his forearm. “I’ll be okay. I’ll stay here and turn the ship around. You get out of here. Sam’ll take you back to the James and they’ll fix you up.”

Cas nodded. “You, too.”

“I can stop the bleeding. I need to stay here and take the ship back. We have to surrender before anyone else dies.”

Cas huffed, but nodded. He wrapped his fingers around Dean’s where they clutched Cas’s waist before leaning in and kissing him.

Dean pulled away first, though reluctantly, before turning to Sam. “Cas’s tell you where to take him. Now, go, get the Hell out of here.”

Sam nodded, holding Cas under one arm before guiding him down the stairs back to the main deck. Dean ran to the mast, his fingers trembling as he pulled at the rope to strike the colors. Blood was running down to his wrist at this point, and the adrenaline was making him dizzy. He didn’t stop until the Winchester flag was in his hands. He’d lost sight of Sam and Cas at that point, but it didn’t matter at that point. There was more shouting, and a few more clatters of blades before the fighting on board stopped, and the eyes of everyone on the ship were on him.

Charlie was at his side in an instant, saying something that he couldn’t quite make out. Her voice was fuzzy and far away, and the edges of his vision started to blacken. He tried to tell her to turn the ship around and head for shore before his vision completely faded.

~~~~

Dean awoke in a fog. He’d been fading in and out for the past little while, only catching flashes of what was going on around him. He remembered shouting, being lifted and carried somewhere. He was sure he’d heard Sam somewhere along the way but he wasn’t sure. Now, though, he awoke to a terrible arch in his arm and a headache like he’d never experienced before.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam was sitting by his bedside, chin in his hands.

Dean blinked and rubbed the fog from his eyes before pulling himself to sit up. He was in obviously in an infirmary, that much he knew from the smell of iodine and the white sheet draped across his legs. It wasn’t the dark infirmary of The Prince James, though.

“You’re in Angles,” Sam said, “in Arcadia. One of your crewmen brought the ship to shore. You passed out after the ship surrendered.”

“Must’ve lost more blood than I thought,” Dean said.

“Blood loss and probably panic is what the healers said. You should be fine, though, if you rest and drink fluids.”

Dean looked down at his arm. It was stitched together in a crooked angle, his skin stained orange with iodine. That was going to leave an ugly scar.

“How’s Cas?” Dean asked.

Sam gestured with his head to Dean’s left, and Dean turned. In the bed next to him, Cas was asleep, his skin pale and glistening with sweat.

 “Is he…”

“Blood loss. Samuel got him pretty good across the ribs but he didn’t puncture a lung or anything. Cas must’ve jumped back at the right time, but he’s going to have a nasty scar across his chest. He’ll live though.”

Dean sighed. “So, what now?”

Sam shrugged. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“You.”

Dean groaned, pulling himself up higher on the bed. “Me?”

“Mmhmm. Samuel’s dead. You’re the rightful king of Winchester, now. If you want it.”

“Sam…”

“I said if. You don’t have to take the throne if you don’t want it. There’s a grave for you in Winchester. We’d all assumed you were dead.”

“The entire city saw me nearly hanged. And now that Samuel’s dead and you’re not coming back with the fugitive the citizens are going to talk.”

“You want to be the king?”

“No. Not really. But it’s my duty. This whole mess is my fault. If I hadn’t been doubting it in the first place –“

“No. No, I don’t want to hear any of that,” Sam said raising his hand, “that’s ridiculous and you know it. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or right place right time if that’s how you want to look at it. And there’s no telling what Samuel was going to do anyway. After dad passed he didn’t even wait for my decision before he decided to take the throne. If he was willing to kill you to keep it he might’ve been willing to kill you to get it.”

Dean sighed. “I suppose that’s true. But Sam, I’m the heir. I’m supposed to take the throne.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re not the only heir.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Sam.”

“So don’t. I’m willing to do it. More than willing, actually. You know how I feel about Sarah and I’ve been studying this for years. I had hoped that once I finished my studies I’d be your advisor.”

“You sure you want this, Sam?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “If you’re stalling making your decision because you’re worried about what I want, don’t. But if we’re both being honest, yes. I want to be the king, but not badly enough to usurp you.”

“And you’d be okay with my… piracy.”

“If that’s what you choose to do, I can’t stop you. I’d prefer if you had a safer hobby like horse training or carpentry, but if that’s what you choose I only have two conditions.”

“What are those?”

“Don’t die and visit often.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, okay, Sammy. I promise I won’t die and I’ll visit as often as I can.”

“Good.” Sam smiled at him, patting him on the knee.

“Oh, Sam, uh one more thing,”

“Yes?”

“How’d you get on the ship? How’d you know where I was to come get me.”

Sam sighed. “Samuel made a lot of deals with some dubious kingdoms. Mick, a friend of mine from Alexandria, had some suspicions that the escaped prisoner was actually you and a buddy of his was the one who thought he recognized Cas as from Angles.”

“Alexandria?”

“They’re a small kingdom, pretty isolated. But their suspicions were right so I’m grateful for that.”

“Mick’s buddy didn’t happen to be the executioner, did he?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s the guy who gave me the key to the cell.”

“Huh.”

“He was asking all these questions. He was weird, Sam. I don’t trust him.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Dean sighed, nodding and leaning back against the pillows. He was beat. He’d slept for who knows how long but even the small amount of brain power required for this conversation was draining him.

“Hey, Dean, why don’t you get some rest. I’ve got an appointment with King Michael anyway.”

“Okay, Sam.”

“You got it, Dean.”

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Sam chuckled, patting Dean’s arm. “Sleep well.”

~~~~

“So, you ready for this?” Dean asked, nudging Cas is the shoulder. Cas wavered on his feet. It’d only been a few days since he’d been walking around without getting winded, but he was still a little wobbly on his feet. Balthazar had joked that he just wasn’t used to walking on land for over a month.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Cas said, “you sure you’re okay with this? It’s a little sudden and I would understand if – “

“Cas, you think too much,” Dean said, pulling him in by the waist and kissing him. “It’s not as it was the first time they tried to get me to do this, you know.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Still. You’re sure you’re not going to run into the woods and fall in love with the leader of a bandit ring, are you?”

Dean snorted. “Ha-ha.”

There was a knock on the chamber door they’d been sharing just before Balthazar poked his head in. “Cas, Michael wants you down in the throne room, now.”

Cas sighed, peeling Dean’s fingers off his waist. “I still don’t see why we have to do this in front of people. It’s a contract between and outlaw and a dead man. I don’t see how anyone knowing is going to make this any more legitimate.”

“That’s just nerves talking. Get out here,” Balthazar said.

Dean snorted, leaning it for one more kiss before Cas was whisked down to the throne room. Technically it wasn’t a wedding. Technically it was a formal alliance between the Angles and Winchester kingdoms. It was just that the easiest way to secure that alliance would be long standing was through marriage. It, of course, had the added bonus of kicking both Cas and Dean out of line for their respective thrones, which was perfectly fine with both of them. It was a win-win-win for everyone.

“Dean?” Sam's voice came from behind the door.

“Yeah?”

“We’re ready for you now.”

Dean pulled open the door, meeting Sam in the hallway.

“How do I look?” Dean asked. He’d had to borrow a pair of his brother’s robes and have them tailored to the proper length. They’d been okay around his shoulders, but they bunched up a little if he moved. They looked good enough when he was standing still.

Sam smiled. “You look good, Dean.”

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Dean asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Sam asked. “I was the one who brought it up in the first place.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” Dean asked as they started down the hall.

“You ran off the last time.”

“That was different, Sam. Last time I didn’t have a choice. This time I could just run off and leave you all trying to figure out how to tell your kingdom their suddenly-not-dead prince has skipped out.”

Sam shrugged in acquiescence.

“And you didn’t exactly seem to upset about being left with Sarah anyway,” Dean said.

Sam shoved him with his shoulder and the two of them laughed.

Down in the throne room, King Michael and Queen Anna were seated on their thrones, Castiel standing before them in front of an ivory edict table. The nobles of Michael’s court were seated at each side of the aisle, in their own wooden chairs. Sam took the first chair on the right, and Dean took his place beside Cas.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said back.

They smiled to each other, each taking a quill from the table as Michael rose to his feet.

“Today, we mark a new chapter in the history and Angels,” Michael said, addressing his nobles, “with the union between Prince Castiel of Angles and Prince Dean of Winchesters, we open ourselves to a new era in which Angles forms a new alliance with our friends to the west. Through this contract, we establish a bond between our two kingdoms, allowing for better trade and commerce for the benefit of us all.”

Michael looked down at Dean and Cas. “Castiel, Prince of Angles, do you agree to the terms set forth in this union; to bind yourself to Dean, Prince of Winchester as long as you both shall live?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“And Dean, Prince of Winchester, do you agree to the terms set forth in this union; to bind yourself of Castiel, Prince of Angles, for as long as you both shall live?”

“Yes, You Highness, I do.”

Michael gestured them both to sign the parchment. Dean’s hands shook as he did.

“Then the treaty stands.”

The nobles erupted into cheers of “Long Live King Michael”, “Long Live Prince Castiel”, and “Long Live Prince Dean” before Michael settled them down and they proceeded to the Great Hall for feasting.

“Is that it?” Dean whispered to Cas as they made their way through the halls.

Cas shrugged. “It’s not a wedding, just a treaty.”

Dean snorted. “So I didn’t just pledge myself to you for the rest of my life?”

Cas smiled and shook his head. “I thought you were the one who said you didn’t want pomp and circumstance.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “At least there’s food.”

Cas hummed in agreement. “After we eat do you want to get out of here? Maybe see if Charlie can get the pirates ashore long enough to christen the ship?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Dean said, kissing Cas on the cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Uhm. Holy crap. 
> 
> Okay, so this baby is done and I'm both thrilled and a little saddened by that fact. But, I'm pretty proud of it. :)  
> I hope the ending isn't too hokey, but it was really the only way I could see it all working out for everyone's benefit. 
> 
> Also, yeah, I kinda sequel baited here, but I think there's some interesting story stuff I could tell from Sam's side. So, if you'd like to see Sam's perspective and a sequel from his POV, please let me know. I wanna know what you think! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me this long. I really appreciate every single one of you. :) <3
> 
> If you'd like to come talk to me, I'm [here on tumblr](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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